.^^-\ ./^. A YEAR'S LIFE YEAR'S LIFE JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 3cl? (ittbe gelebt imt> Qtiitbtt. BOSTON: C. C. LITTLE AND J. BROWN. M DCCC XLI. ^I^hH'^ Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1841, by C. C. Little and J. Brown, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. MAY 1 5 197a CAMBRIDGE: FOLSOM, WELLS, AND THURSTON, PRINTERS TO THE UNIVERSITY. DEDICATION The gentle Una I have loved, The snowy maiden, pure and mild. Since ever by her side I roved. Through ventures strange, a wondering child, In fantasy a Red Cross Knight, Burning for her dear sake to fight. If there be one who can, like her. Make sunshine in Hfe's shady places, One in whose holy bosom stir As many gentle household graces, — And such I think there needs must be, — Will she accept this book from me ? CONTENTS PAGE Threnodia 3 The Serenade 10 Song. ''Lift up the curtains of thine eyes" . . . .15 The Departed 17 The Bobolink . . . . i 24 Song, f' What reck I of the stars, when I" . . . . 30 The Poet 32 Flowers . , > 35 The Lover 43 To E. W. G. . i 46 Isabel 51 3Iusic 54 Song. ''O! I must look on that sweet face" . . .61 lanlhe 65 Love's Altar 76 My Love 79 With a Pressed Flower 84 Impartiality . . . 87 Bellerophon 89 Something Natural 97 The Syrens 99 A Feeling __. . . . 105 The Beggar 107 Serenade 110 Iren6 . .112 The Lost Child . . 118 The Church 120 The Unlovely 124 Love-Song 128 Song. "All things are sad" 130 A Love-Dream 134 Fourth of July Ode 138 Sphinx 140 CONTENTS. Sonnets. I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII. XIV. XV. XVI. XVII. XVtII. XIX. XX. XXI. XXII. XXIII. XXIV. XXV. XXVI. XXVII. XXVIII. XXIX. XXX. Sonnets on Names II. Rose III. Mary . IV. Caroline V. Anne . " Goe, Little Booke ! " Disappointment .... " Great human nature '' . To a Friend Continued .... " O child of Nature '' . ^' For this true nobleness " To Continued .... " Why should we ever weary " Green Mountains '' My friend; adown Life's valley " "Verse cannot say how beautiful " "The soul would fain" " I saw a gate " ... '^ I would not have this perfect love " To the dark, narrow house " " I fain would give to thee " " Much had I mused " " Sayest thou, most beautiful " '' Poet ! who sittest in thy pleasant room " No more but so ? '" . To a Voice heard in Mount Auburn On reading Spenser again " Light of mine eyes ! " . " Silent as one who treads " "A gentleness that grows of steady faith " When the glad soul is full " To the Evening-star Reading .... To , after a Snow-storm I. Edith . A YEAR'S LIFE Hope first the youthful Poet leads, And he is glad to follow her; Kind is she, and to all his needs With a free hand doth minister. But, when sweet Hope at last. hath fled, Cometh her sister Mem»fy ; She wreaths Hope's garlands round her head, And strives to seem as fair as she. Then Hope comes back, and by the hand She leads a child most fair to see, Who with a joyous face doth stand Uniting Hope and Memefy. So brighter grew the Earth around, And bluer grew the sky above ; The Poet now his guide hath found. And follows in the steps of Love. ^ THRENODIA. Gone, gone from us ! and shall we see Those sybil-leaves of destiny, Those calm eyes, nevermore ? Those deep, dark eyes so warm and bright, Wherein the fortunes of the man Lay slumbering in prophetic light, In characters a child might scan ? So bright, and gone forth utterly ! O stern word — Nevermore ! The stars of those two gentle eyes Will shine no more on earth ; Quenched are the hopes that had their birth. As we watched them slowly rise. THRENODIA. Stars of a mother's fate ; And she would read them o'er and o'er, Pondering, as she sate. Over their dear astrology. Which she had conned and conned before, Deeming she needs must read aright What was writ so passing bright. And yet, alas ! she knew not why, Her voice would falter in its song. And tears would slide from out her eye. Silent, as they were doing wrong. Her heart was like a wind-flower, bent Even to breaking with the balmy dew, Turning its heavenly nourishment (That filled with tears its eyes of blue. Like a sweet suppliant that weeps in prayer, Making her innocency show more fair. Albeit unwitting of the ornament,) Into a load too great for it to bear : O stern word — Nevermore ! THRENODIA. 5 The tongue, that scarce had learned to claim An entrance to a mother's heart By that dear talisman, a mother's name, Sleeps all forgetful of its art ! I loved to see the infant soul (How mighty in the weakness Of its untutored meekness !) Peep timidly from out its nest, His lips, the while, Fluttering with half-fledged words, Or hushing to a smile That more than words expressed, When his glad mother on him stole And snatched him to her breast ! O, thoughts were brooding in those eyes. That would have soared like strong- winged birds Far, far into the skies. Gladding the earth with song And gushing harmonies. Had he but tarried with us long ! O stern word — Nevermore ! 6 THRENODIA. , ^ How peacefully they rest, Crossfolded there Upon his little breast, Those small, white hands that ne'er were still before. But ever sported with his mother's hair. Or the plain cross that on her breast she wore ! Her heart no more will beat To feel the touch of that soft palm. That ever seemed a new surprise Sending glad thoughts up to her eyes To bless him with their holy calm, — Sweet thoughts ! they made her eyes as sweet. How quiet are the hands That wove those pleasant bands ! But that they do not rise and sink With his calm breathing, I should think That he were dropped asleep ; Alas ! too deep, too deep Is this his slumber ! Time scarce can number THRENODIA. The years ere he will wake agen, — O, may we see his eyelids open then ! O stern word — Nevermore ! As the airy gossamere, Floating in the sunlight clear, Where'er it toucheth, clinging tightly, Round glossy leaf or stump unsightly, So from his spirit wandered out Tendrils spreading all about, Knitting all things to its thrall With a perfect love of all : O stern word — Nevermore ! He did but float a little way Adown the stream of time. With dreamy eyes watching the ripples play, Or listening their fairy chime ; His slender sail Ne'er felt the gale ; THRENODIA. He did but float a little way, And, putting to the shore While yet 't was early day, Went calmly on his way. To dwell with us no more ! No jarring did he feel. No grating on his vessel's keel ; A strip of silver sand Mingled the waters with the land Where he was seen no more : O stern word — Nevermore ! Full short his journey was ; no dust Of earth unto his sandals clave ; The weary weight that old men must, He bore not to the grave. He seemed a cherub who had lost his way And wandered hither, so his stay With us was short, and 't was most meet That he should be no delver in earth's clod, THRENODIA. Nor need to pause and cleanse his feet To stand before his God : O blest word — Evermore ! 10 THE SERENADE. i Gentle, Lady, be thy sleeping. Peaceful may thy dreamings be. While around thy soul is sweeping, Dreamy-winged, our melody ; Chant we. Brothers, sad and slow. Let our song be soft and low As the voice of other years. Let our hearts within us melt To gentleness, as if we felt The dropping of our mothers' tears. Lady ! now our song is bringing Back again thy childhood's hours, — THE SERENADE. 11 Hearest thou the humbee singing Drowsily among the flowers ? Sleepily, sleepily In the noontide swayeth he, Half rested on the slender stalks That edge those well-known garden walks ; Hearest thou the fitful whirring Of the humbird's viewless wings, — Feel'st not round thy heart the stirring Of childhood's half-forgotten things ? Seest thou the dear old dwelling With the woodbine round the door? Brothers, soft ! her breast is swelling With the busy thoughts of yore ; Lowly sing ye, sing ye mildly. Rouse her spirit not so wildly. Lest she sleep not any more. 'T is the pleasant summertide. Open stands the window wide, — 12 THE SERENADE. Whose voices, Lady, art thou drinking ? Who sings that best beloved tune In a clear note, rising, sinking, Like a thrush's song in June ? Whose laugh is that which rings so clear And joyous in thine eager ear ? Lower, Brothers, yet more low Weave the song in mazy twines ; She heareth now the west wind blow At evening through the clump of pines : O ! mournful is their tone. As of a crazed thing Who, to herself alone, Is ever murmuring, Through the night and through the day, For something that hath past away. Often, Lady, hast thou listened, . Often have thy blue eyes glistened, THE SERENADE. 13 When the summer evening breeze Moaned sadly through those lonely trees, Or the fierce wind from the north Wrung their mournful music forth. Ever the river floweth In an unbroken stream, Ever the west wind bloweth. Murmuring as he goeth. And mingling with her dream ; Onward still the river sweepeth With a sound of long-agone ; Lowly, Brothers, lo ! she weepeth, She is now no more alone ; Long-loved forms and long-loved faces Round about her pillow throng, Through her memory's desert places Flow the waters of our song. Lady ! if thy life be holy As when thou wert yet a child, Though our song be melancholy. It will stir no anguish wild ; 14 THE SERENADE. For the soul that hath lived well, For the soul that child-like is, There is quiet in the spell That brings back early memories. 15 SONG. I. Lift up the curtains of thine eyes And let their light out-shine ! Let me adore the mysteries Of those mild orbs of thine, Which ever queenly calm do roll, Attuned to an ordered soul ! II. Open thy lips yet once again, And, while my soul doth hush With awe, pour forth that holy strain Which seemeth me to gush, A fount of music, running o'er From thy deep spirit's inmost core ! 16 SONG. III. The melody that dwells in thee Begets in me as well A spiritual harmony, A mild and blessed spell ; Far, far above earth's atmosphere I rise, whene'er thy voice I hear. 17 THE DEPARTED. Not they alone are the departed, Who have laid them down to sleep In the grave narrow and lonely, Not for them only do I vigils keep, Not for them only am I heavy-hearted, Not for them only ! Many, many, there are many Who no more are with me here. As cherished, as beloved as any Whom I have seen upon the bier. I weep to think of those old faces, To see them in their grief or mirth ; 2 18 THE DEPARTED. I weep, — for there are empty places Around my heart's once crowded hearth ; The cold ground doth not cover them, > The grass hath not grown over them. Yet are they gone from me on earth ; — O ! how more bitter is this weeping. Than for those lost ones who are sleeping Where sun will shine and flowers blow. Where gentle winds will whisper low, And the stars have them in their keeping \ Wherefore from me who loved you so, ! wherefore did ye go ? 1 have shed full many a tear, I have wrestled oft in prayer, — - But ye do not come again ; How could any thing so dear. How could any thing so fair. Vanish like the summer rain ? No, no, it cannot be But ye are still with me ! THE DEPARTED. 19 And yet, O ! where art thou, Childhood, with sunny brow And floating hair ? Where art thou hiding now ? I have sought thee everywhere, All among the shrubs and flowers Of those garden- walks of ours, — Thou art not there ! When the shadow of Night's wings Hath darkened all the Earth, I listen for thy gambolings Beside the cheerful hearth, — Thou art not there ! I listen to the far-ofl* bell, I murmur o'er the little songs Which thou did'st love so well, Pleasant memories come in throngs And mine eyes are blurred with tears, But no glimpse of thee appears : 20 THE DEPARTED. Lonely am I in the Winter, lonely in the Spring, Summer and Harvest bring no trace of thee, — Oh ! whither, whither art thou wandering. Thou who did'st once so cleave to me ? And Love is gone ; — I have seen him come, I have seen him, too, depart. Leaving desolate his home. His bright home in my heart. I am alone ! Cold, cold is his hearth-stone. Wide open stands the door ; The frolic and the gentle one Shall I see no more, no more ? At the fount the bowl is broken, I shall drink it not again. All my longing prayers are spoken. And felt, ah, woe is me, in vain ! Oh childish hopes and childish fancies. Whither have ye fled away ? THE DEPARTED. 21 I long for you in mournful trances, I long for you by night and day ; Beautiful thoughts that once were mine, Might I but win you back once more, Might ye about my being twine And cluster as ye did of yore ! O ! do not let me pray in vain, — How good and happy I should be, How free from every shade of pain, If ye would come again to me ! O, come again ! come, come again ! Hath the sun forgot its brightness, Have the stars forgot to shine. That they bring not their wonted lightness To this weary heart of mine ? 'T is not the sun that shone on thee, Happy childhood, long ago, — Not the same stars silently Looking on the same bright snow, — Not the same that Love and I 22 THE DEPARTED. Together watched in days gone by ! No, not the same, alas for me ! Would God that those who early went To the house dark and low, For whom our mourning heads were bent. For whom our steps were slow ; 0, would that these alone had left us. That Fate of these alone had reft us, Would God indeed that it were so ! Many leaves too soon must wither. Many flowers too soon must die, Many bright ones wandering hither. We know not whence, we know not why, Like the leaves and like the flowers. Vanish, ere the summer hours. That brought them to us, have gone by. O for the hopes and for the feelings, Childhood, that I shared with thee, — THE DEPARTED. 23 The high resolves, the bright revealings Of the soul's might, which thou gav'st me. Gentle Love, woe worth the day, Woe worth the hour, when thou wert born. Woe worth the day thou fled'st away, — A shade across the wind-waved corn, — A dewdrop falling from the leaves Chance-shaken in a summer's morn ! Woe, woe is me ! my sick heart grieves, Companionless and anguish-worn ! I know it well, our manly years Must be baptized in bitter tears ; Full many fountains must run dry That youth has dreamed for long hours by. Choked by convention's siroc blast Or drifting sands of many cares ; Slowly they leave us all at last. And cease their flowing unawares. 24 THE BOBOLINK. Anacreon of the meadow, Drunk with the joy of spring ! Beneath the tall .pine's voiceful shadow I lie and drink thy jargoning ; My soul is full with melodies, One drop would overflow it And send the tears into mine eyes, — But what car'st thou to know it ? Thy heart is free as mountain air, And of thy lays thou hast no care, Scattering them gaily everywhere, Happy, unconscious poet ! THE BOBOLINK. 25 Upon a tuft of meadow grass, While thy loved-one tends the nest, Thou swayest as the breezes pass, Unburthening thine o'erfull breast Of the crowded songs that fill it. Just as joy may choose to will it. Lord of thy love and liberty. The blithest bird of merry May, Thou turnest thy bright eye on me, That says as plain as eye can say, — " Here sit we in the sunny weather, I and my modest mate together ; Whatever your wise thoughts may be, Under that gloomy old pine tree. We do not value them a feather ! " Now, leaving earth and me behind. Thou beatest up against the wind. Or, floating slowly down before it, Above thy grass-hid nest thou flutterest 26 ' THE BOBOLINK. And thy bridal love-song utterest, Raining showers of music o'er it. Weary never, still thou trillest Spring-gladsome lays, As of moss-rimmed water-brooks Murmuring through pebbly nooks In quiet summer days. My heart with happiness thou fillest, I seem again to be a boy Watching thee, gay, blithesome lover. O'er the bending grass-tops hover. Quivering thy wings for joy. There 's something in the apple blossom. The greening grass and bobolink's song, That wakes again within my bosom Feelings which have slumbered long. As long, long years ago I wandered, I seem to wander even yet. The hours the idle school-boy squandered. The man would die ere he 'd forget. THE BOBOLINK. 27 hours that frosty eld deemed wasted, Nodding his gray head toward my books, 1 dearer prize the lore I tasted With you, among the trees and brooks, Than all that I have gained since then From learned books or study-withered men ! Nature, thy soul was one with mine. And, as a sister by a younger brother Is loved, each flowing to the other. Such love from me was thine. . Or wert thou not more like a IbVih'g mother With sympathy and loving power to heal. Against whose heart my throbbing heart I 'd lay And moan my childish sorrows all away, Till calm and holiness would o'er me steal ? Was not the golden sunset a dear friend ? Found I no kindness in the silent moon. And the green trees, whose tops did sway and bend. Low singing evermore their pleasant tune .'' 28 THE BOBOLINK], Felt I no heart in dim and solemn woods, — No loved-one's voice in lonely solitudes ? Yes, yes ! unhoodwinked then my spirit's eyes, Blind leaders had not taught me to be wise. Dear hours ! which now again I over-live. Hearing and seeing with the ears and eyes Of childhood, ye were bees, that to the hive Of my young heart came laden with rich prize, Gathered in fields and woods and sunny dells, to be My spirit's food in days more wintery. Yea, yet again ye come ! ye come ! And, like a child once more at home After long sojourning in alien climes, I lie upon my mother's breast. Feeling the blessedness of rest. And dwelling in the light of other times. O ye whose living is not Life, Whose dying is but death. THE BOBOLINK. 29 Long, empty toil and petty strife, Rounded with loss of breath ! Go, look on Nature's countenance, Drink in the blessing of her glance ; Look on the sunset, hear the wind, The cataract, the awful thunder ; Go, worship by the sea ; Then, and then only, shall ye find. With ever-growing wonder, Man is not all in all to ye ; Go with a meek and humble soul. Then shall the scales of self unroll From off your eyes, — the weary packs Drop from your heavy-laden backs ; And ye shall see. With reverent and hopeful eyes. Glowing with new-born energies, How great a thing it is to be ! 30 SONG. I. What reck I of the stars, when I May gaze into thine eyes, O'er which the brown hair flowingly Is parted maiden-wise From thy pale forehead, calm and bright, Over thy cheeks so rosy-white ? II. What care I for the red moon-rise ? Far liefer would I sit And watch the joy within thine eyes Gush up at sight of it ; Thyself my queenly moon shall be, Ruling my heart's deep tides for me I Jiv'. SONG. 31 III. What heed I if the sky be blue ? So are thy holy eyes, And bright with shadows ever new Of changeful sympathies, Which in thy soul's unruffled deep Rest evermore, but never sleep. 32 THE POET. He who hath felt Life's mystery Press on him Uke thick night, Whose soul hath known no history But struggling after Hght ; — He who hath seen dim shapes arise In the soundless depths of soul, Which gaze on him with meaning eyes Full of the mighty whole, Yet will no word of healing speak. Although he pray night-long, " O, help me, save me ! I am weak. And ye are wondrous strong ! " — Who, in the midnight dark and deep, Hath felt a voice of misht THE POET. 33 Come echoing through the halls of sleep From the lone heart of Night, And, starting from his restless bed. Hath watched and wept to know What meant that oracle of dread That stirred his being so ; — He who hath felt how strong and great This Godlike soul of man, And looked full in the eyes of Fate, Since Life and Thought began ; The armor of whose moveless trust Knoweth no spot of weakness, Who hath trod fear into the dust Beneath the feet of meekness ; — He who hath calmly borne his cross. Knowing himself the king Of time, nor counted it a loss To learn by suffering ; — And who hath worshipped woman still With a pure soul and lowly, 3 34 THE POET. Nor ever hath in deed or will Profaned her temple holy, — He is the Poet, him unto The gift of song is given, Whose life is lofty, strong, and true, Who never fell from Heaven ; He is the Poet, from his lips To live for evermore, Majestical as full-sailed ships, The words of Wisdom pour. 35 FLOWERS. ' Haile be thou, holie hearbe, Growing on the ground, All in the mount Calvary- First wert thou found ; Thou art good for manie a sore, Thou healest manie a wound ; In the name of sweete Jesus I take thee from the ground." Ancient Charm-verse. I. When, from a pleasant ramble, home, Fresh-stored with quiet thoughts, I come, I pluck some way-side flower And press it in the choicest nook Of a much-loved and oft-read book ; And, when upon its leaves I look In a less happy hour, Dear memory bears me far away Unto her fairy bower. And on her breast my head I lay. 36 FLOWERS. While, in a motherly, sweet strain, She sings me gently back again To by-gone feelings, until they Seem children born of yesterday. II. Yes, many a story of past hours I read in those dear withered flowers, And once again I seem to be Lying beneath the old oak tree, And looking up into the sky Through thick leaves rifted fitfully. Lulled by the rustling of the vine. Or the faint low of far-off kine ; And once again I seem To watch the whirling bubbles flee. Through shade and gleam alternately, Down the vine-bowered stream ; Or 'neath the odorous linden trees, When summer twilight lingers long, FLOWERS. 37 To hear the flowing of the breeze And unseen insects' slumberous song, That mingle into one and seem Like dim murmurs of a dream ; Fair faces, too, I seem to see, Smiling from pleasant eyes at me, And voices sweet I hear. That, like remembered melody. Flow through my spirit's ear. III. A poem every flower is. And every leaf a line. And with delicious memories They fill this heart of mine : No living blossoms are so dear As these dead relics treasured here ; One tells of love, of friendship one. Love's quiet after-sunset time, When the all-dazzling light is gone, And, with the soul's low vesper-chime. 38 FLOWERS. O'er half its heaven doth out-flow A holy calm and steady glow. Some are gay feast-songs, some are dirges, In some a joy with sorrow merges ; One sings the shadowed woods, and one the roar Of ocean's everlasting surges, Tumbling upon the beach's hard-beat floor, Or sliding backward from the shore To meet the landward waves, and slowly plunge once more. O flowers of grace, I bless ye all By the dear faces ye recall ! IV. Upon the banks of Life's deep streams Full many a flower groweth. Which with a wondrous fragrance teems, And in the silent water gleams. And trembles as the water floweth. Many a one the wave upteareth, Washing ever the roots away, FLOWERS. 39 And far upon its bosom beareth, To bloom no more in Youth's glad May ; As farther on the river runs, Flowing more deep and strong, Only a few pale, scattered ones Are seen the dreary banks along ; And, where those flowers do not grow, The river floweth dark and chill, Its voice is sad, and with its flow Mingles ever a sense of ill ; Then, Poet, thou who gather dost Of Life's blest flowers the brightest, O, take good heed they be not lost While with the angry flood thou fightest ! V. In the cool grottoes of the soul, Whence flows thought's crystal river. Whence songs of joy for ever roll To Him who is the Giver, — 40 FLOWERS. " There store thou them, where fresh and green Their leaves and blossoms may be seen, A spring of joy that faileth never ; There store thou them, and they shall be A blessing and a peace to thee, And in their youth and purity Thou shall be young for ever ! Then, with their fragrance rich and rare, Thy living shall be rife, Strength shall be thine thy cross to bear, And they shall be a chaplet fair, Breathing a pure and holy air, To crown thy holy life. VI. O Poet ! above all men blest. Take heed that thus thou store them ; Love, Hope, and Faith shall ever rest. Sweet birds (upon how sweet a nest !) Watchfully brooding o'er them. FLOWERB, 41 And from those flowers of Paradise Scatter thou many a blessed seed, Wherefrom an offspring may arise To cheer the hearts and light the eyes Of after-voyagers in their need. They shall not fall on stony ground, But, yielding all their hundred-fold. Shall shed a peace fulness around. Whose strengthening joy may not be told . So shall thy name be blest of all. And thy remembrance never die ; For of that seed shall surely fall In the fair garden of Eternity. Exult then in the nobleness Of this thy work so holy. Yet be not thou one jot the less Humble and meek and lowly. But let thine exultation be The reverence of a bended knee ; And by thy life a poem write, Built strongly day by day, — 42 FLOWERS. And on the rock of Truth and Right Its deep foundations lay. VII. It is thy DUTY ! Guard it well ! For unto thee hath much been given, And thou canst make this life a Hell, Or Jacob's-ladder up to Heaven. Let not thy baptism in Life's wave Make thee like him whom Homer sings, A sleeper in a living grave, Callous and hard to outward things ; But open all thy soul and sense To every blessed influence That from the heart of Nature springs : Then shall thy Life-flowers be to thee, When thy best years are told, As much as these have been to me, — Yea, more, a thousand -fold ! 43 THE LOVER. I. Go roam the world from East to West, Search every land beneath the sky, You cannot find a man so blest, A king so powerful as I, Though you should seek eternally. II. For I a gentle lover be. Sitting at my loved-one's side ; She giveth her whole soul to me Without a wish or thought of pride. And she shall be my cherished bride. / 44 THE LOVER. III. No show of gaudiness hath she, She doth not flash with jewels rare ; In beautiful simplicity She weareth leafy garlands fair, Or modest flowers in her hair. IV. Sometimes she dons a robe of green, Sometimes a robe of snowy white. But, in whatever garb she 's seen, It seems most beautiful and right, And is the loveliest to my sight. Not I her lover am alone, Yet unto all she doth suflice, None jealous is, and every one Reads love and truth within her eyes, And deemeth her his own dear prize. THE LOVER. 45 VI. And so thou art, Eternal Nature ! Yes, bride of Heaven, so thou art ; Thou wholly lovest every creature, Giving to each no stinted part, But filling every peaceful heart. 46 TO E. W. G. ' Dear Child ! dear happy Girl ! if thou appear Heedless, — untouched with awe or serious thought, Thy nature is not therefore less divine : Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year ; And worship'st at the Temple's inner shrine, God being with thee when we know it not." Wordsworth. f As through a strip of sunny light A white dove flashes swiftly on, So suddenly before my sight Thou gleamed'st a moment and wert gone ; And yet I long shall bear in mind The pleasant thoughts thou left'st behind. Thou mad'st me happy with thine eyes, And happy with thine open smile, And, as I write, sweet memories Come thronging round me all the while ; TO E. W. G. 47 Thou mad'st me happy with thine eyes,— And gentle feelings long forgot Looked up and oped their eyes, Like violets when they see a spot Of summer in the skies. Around thy playful lips did glitter Heat-lightnings of a girlish scorn ; Harmless they were, for nothing bitter In thy dear heart was ever born, — That merry heart that could not lie Within its warm nest quietly, But ever from each full, dark eye Was looking kindly night and morn. There was an archness in thine eyes Born of the gentlest mockeries, And thy light laughter rang as clear As water-drops I loved to hear 48 TO E. W. G. In days of boyhood, as they fell Tinkling far down the dim, still well ; And with its sound came back once more The feelings of my early years, And half aloud I murmured o'er, — " Sure 1 have heard that voice before. It is so pleasant in mine ears." Whenever thou didst look on me I thought of merry birds. And something of spring's melody Came to me in thy words ; Thy thoughts did dance and bound along Like happy children in their play, Whose hearts run over into song For gladness of the summer's day ; And mine grew dizzy with the sight, Still feeling lighter and more light, Till, joining hands, they whirled away As blithe and merrily as they. TO E. W. G. 49 I bound a larch-twig round with flowers, Which thou didst twine among thy hair, And gladsome were the few, short hours When I was with thee there ; So now that thou art far away, Safe-nestled in thy warmer clime. In memory of a happy day I twine this simple wreath of rhyme. Dost mind how she, whom thou dost love More than in light words may be said, A coronal of amaranth wove About thy duly-sobered head, Which kept itself a moment still That she might have her gentle will ? Thy childlike grace and purity O keep for evermore. And as thou art, still strive to be. That on the farther shore Of Time's dark waters ye may meet, 4 50 TO E. W. G. And she may twine around thy brow A wreath of those bright flowers that grow Where blessed angels set their feet ! 51 ISABEL. As the leaf upon the tree, Fluttering, gleaming constantly, Such a lightsome thing was she, My gay and gentle Isabel ! Her heart was fed with love-springs sweet, And in her face you 'd see it beat To hear the sound of welcome feet, — - And were not mine so, Isabel ? She knew it not, but she was fair, And like a moonbeam was her hair. That falls where flowing ripples are In summer evening, Isabel ! Her heart and tongue were scarce apart, Unwittingly her lips would part. 52 ISABEL. And love come gushing from her heart, The woman's heart of Isabel. So pure her flesh-garb, and like dew. That in her features glimmered through Each working of her spirit true, In wondrous beauty, Isabel ! A sunbeam struggling through thick leaves, A reaper's song 'mid yellow sheaves. Less gladsome were ; — my spirit grieves To think of thee, mild Isabel ! I know not when I loved thee first ; Not loving, I had been accurst. Yet, having loved, my heart will burst, Longing for thee, dear Isabel ! With silent tears my cheeks are wet, I would be calm, I would forget. But thy blue eyes gaze on me yet, When stars have risen, Isabel ! ISABEL. 53 The winds mourn for thee, Isabel, The flowers expect thee in the dell, Thy gentle spirit loved them well. And I for thy sake, Isabel ! The sunsets seem less lovely now Than when, leaf-checkered, on thy brow They fell as lovingly as thou Lingered'st till moon-rise, Isabel ! At dead of night I seem to see Thy fair, pale features, constantly Upturned in silent prayer for me. O'er moveless clasped hands, Isabel ! I call thee, thou dost not reply ; The stars gleam coldly on thine eye, As like a dream thou flittest by And leav'st me weeping, Isabel ! 54 MUSIC. I SEEM to lie with drooping eyes, Dreaming sweet dreams, Half longings and half memories, In woods where streams With trembling shades and whirling gleams, Many and bright, In song and light, Are ever, ever flowing ; While the wind, if we list to the rustling grass Which numbers his footsteps as they pass. Seems scarcely to be blowing ; And the far-heard voice of Spring From sunny slopes comes wandering, Calling the violets from the sleep. That bound them under the snowdrifts deep, MUSIC. 55 To open their childlike, asking eyes On the new summer's paradise. And mingled with the gurgling waters, — As the dreamy witchery Of Acheloiis' silver-voiced daughters Rose and fell with the heaving sea, Whose great heart swelled with ecstasy, — The song of many a floating bird, Winding through the rifted trees, Is dreamily half-heard, — A sister stream of melodies Rippled by the flutterings Of rapture-quivered wings. II. And now beside a cataract I lie, and through my soul. From over me and under. The never-ceasing thunder Arousingly doth roll ; 56 MUSIC. Through the darkness all compact, Through the trackless sea of gloom, Sad and deep I hear it boom ; At intervals the cloud is cracked And a livid flash doth hiss Downward from its floating home, Lighting up the precipice And the never-resting foam With a dim and ghastly glare, Which, for a heart-beat, in the air. Shows the sweeping shrouds Of the midnight clouds And their wildly-scattered hair. III. Now listening to a woman's tone, In a wood I sit alone, — Alone because our souls are one ; — All around my heart it flows, Lulling me in deep repose ; MUSIC. 57 I fear to speak, I fear to move, Lest I should break the spell I love, — ' Low and gentle, calm and clear, Into my inmost soul it goes, As if my brother dear. Who is no longer here. Had bended from the sky And murmured in my ear A strain of that high harmony. Which they may sing alone Who worship round the throne. IV. Now in a fairy boat, On the bright waves of song. Full merrily I float. Merrily float along ; My helm is veered, I care not how. My white sail bellies over me, And bright as gold the ripples be That plash beneath the bow ; 58 MUSIC. Before, behind, They feel the wind, And they are dancing joyously, — While, faintly heard, along the far-off shore The surf goes plunging with a lingering roar ; Or anchored in a shadowy cove, Entranced with harmonies, Slowly I sink and rise As the slow waves of music move. V. Now softly dashing. Bubbling, plashing. Mazy, dreamy. Faint and streamy. Ripples into ripples melt. Not so strongly heard as felt ; Now rapid and quick. While the heart beats thick, MUSIC. 59 The music's silver wavelets crowd, Distinct and clear, but never loud ; And now all solemnly and slow. In mild, deep tones they warble low, Like the glad song of angels, when They sang good will and peace to men ; Now faintly heard and far. As if the spirit's ears Had caught the anthem of a star Chanting with his brother-spheres In the midnight dark and deep, When the body is asleep And wondrous shadows pour in streams From the twofold gate of dreams ; Now onward roll the billows, swelling With a tempest-sound of might, As of voices doom foretelling To the silent ear of Night ; And now a. mingled ecstasy Of all sweet sounds it is ; — 60 MUSIC. O ! who may tell the agony Of rapture such as this ? VI. I have drunk of the drink of immortals, I have drunk of the life-giving wine, And now I may pass the bright portals That open into a realm divine ! I have drunk it through mine ears In the ecstasy of song. When mine eyes would fill with tears That its life were not more long ; I have drunk it through mine eyes In beauty's every shape. And now around my soul it lies, No juice of earthly grape Wings ! wings are given to me, I can flutter, I can rise, Like a new life gushing through me Sweep the heavenly harmonies ! 61 SONG. O ! I must look on that sweet face once more before I die ; God grant that it may lighten up with joy when I draw nigh ; God grant that she may look on me as kindly as she seems In the long night, the restless night, i' the sunny land of dream.s ! I hoped, I thought, she loved me once, and yet, I know not why. There is a coldness in her speech, and a coldness in ther eye, 62 SONG. Something that in another's look would not seem cold to me, And yet like ice I feel it chill the heart of memory. She does not come to greet me so frankly as she did, And in her utmost openness I feel there 's something hid; She almost seems to shun me, as if she thought that I Might win her gentle heart again to feelings long gone by. I sought the first spring-buds for her, the fairest and the best. And she wore them for their loveliness upon her spotless breast, The blood-root and the violet, the frail anemone. She wore them, and alas ! I deemed it was for love of me ! SONG. 63 As flowers in a darksome place stretch forward to the light, So to the memory of her I turn by day and night ; As flowers in a darksome place grow thin and pale and wan, So is it with my darkened heart, now that her light is gone. The thousand little things that love doth treasure up for aye. And brood upon with moistened eyes when she that 's loved 's away, The word, the look, the smile, the blush, the ribbon that she wore. Each day they grow more dear to me, and pain me more and m.ore. My face I cover with my hands, and bitterly I weep, That the quick-gathering sands of life should choke a love so deep. 64 SONG. And that the stream, so pure and bright, must turn it from its track. Or to the heart-springs, whence it rose, roll its full waters back ! As calm as doth the lily float close by the lakelet's brim, So calm and spotless, down time's stream, her peace- ful days did swim. And I had longed, and dreamed, and prayed, that closely by her side, Down to a haven still and sure, my happy life might glide. But now, alas ! those golden days of youth and hope are o'er. And I must dream those dreams of joy, those guilt- less dreams no more ; Yet there is something in my heart that whispers ceaselessly, " Would God that I might see that face once more before I die ! " I 65 lANTHE. There is a light within her eyes Like gleams of wandering fire-flies ; From light to shade it leaps and moves Whenever in her soul arise The holy shapes of things she loves ; Fitful it shines and changes ever, Like star-lit ripples on a river, Or summer sunshine on the eaves Of silver-trembling poplar leaves. Where the lingering dew-drops quiver. I may not tell the blessedness Her mild eyes send to mine, The sunset-tinted haziness Of their mysterious shine, 5 66 lANTHE. The dim and holy moiirnfulness Of their mellow light divine ; j The shadows of the lashes lie Over them so lovingly, That they seem to melt away In a doubtful twilight-gray, While I watch the stars arise In the evening of her eyes. I love it, yet I almost dread To think what it foreshadoweth ; And, when I muse how I have read That such strange light betokened death, — i 'I Instead of fire-fly gleams, I see *! Wild corpse-lights gliding waveringly. II. With wayward thoughts her eyes are brigl^t) Like shiftings of the northern-light, Hither, thither, swiftly glance they, ; In a mazy twining dance they, lANTIlE. jg7 Like ripply lights the sunshine weaves, Thrown backward from a shaken nook, Below some tumbling water-brook, On the o'erarching platan-leaves. All through her glowing face they flit, And rest in their deep dwelling-place, Those fathomless blue eyes of hers. Till, from her burning soul re-lit. While her upheaving bosom stirs. They stream again across her face And with such hope and glory fill it. Death could not have the heart to chili it- Yet when their wild light fades again, I feel a sudden sense of pain, As if, while yet her eyes were gleaming. And like a shower of sun-lit rain Bright fancies from her face were streaming. Her trembling soul might flit away As swift and suddenly as they. 68 lANTHE. III. A wild, inspired earnestness Her inmost being fills, An eager self-forgetfulness. That speaks not what it wills. But what unto her soul is given, A living oracle from Heaven, Which scarcely in her breast is born When on her trembling lips it thrills, And, like a burst of golden skies Through storm-clouds on a sudden torn. Like a glory of the morn, Beams marvellously from her eyes. And then, like a Spring-swollen river. Roll the deep waves of her full-hearted thought Crested with sun-lit spray, Her v/ild lips curve and quiver. And my rapt soul, on the strong tide upcaught, Unwittingly is borne away. Lulled by a dreamful music ever. Far, — through the solemn twilight gray lANTHE. 69 Of hoary woods, — through valleys green Which the trailing vine embowers, And where the purple-clustered grapes are seen Deep-glowing through rich clumps of waving flowers, — Now over foaming rapids swept And with maddening rapture shook, — Now gliding where the water-plants have slept For ages in a moss-rimmed nook, — Enwoven by a wild-eyed band Of earth-forgetting dreams, I float to a delicious land By a sunset heaven spanned. And musical with streams ; — Around, the calm, majestic forms And god-like eyes of early Greece I see. Or listen, till my spirit warms. To songs of courtly chivalry, Or weep, unmindful if my tears be seen. For the meek, suffering love of poor Undine, i 70 lANTHE. IV. Her thoughts are never memories, But ever changeful, ever new, ^ Fresh and beautiful as dew That in a dell at noontide lies, Or, at the close of summer day, T|ie pleasant breath of new-mown hay : Swiftly they come and pass As golden birds across the sun. As light-gleams on tall meadow-grass Which the wind just breathes upon. And when she speaks, her eyes I see Down-gushing through their silken lattices, Like stars that quiver tremblingly Through leafy branches of the trees, And her pale cheeks do flush and glow With speaking flashes bright and rare As crimson North-lights on new-fallen snow. From out the veiling of her hair, — lANTHE. 71 Her careless hair that scatters down On either side her eyes, A waterfall leaf-tinged with brown And lit with the sunrise. V. When first I saw her, not of earth, But heavenly both in grief and mirth, I thought her ; she did seem / As fair and full of mystery, As bodiless, as forms we see In the rememberings of a dream ; A moon-lit mist, a strange, dim light, Circled her spirit from my sight ; — Each day more beautiful she grew, More earthly every day. Yet that mysterious, moony hue Faded not all away ; She has a sister's sympathy With all the wanderers of the sky» 72 lANTHE. But most I 've seen her bosom stir When moonlight round her fell, For the mild moon it loveth her, She loveth it as well, And of their love perchance this grace Was born into her wondrous face. I cannot tell how it may be, For both, methinks, can scarce be true, Still, as she earthly grew to me. She grew more heavenly too ; She seems one born in Heaven With earthly feelings, For, while unto her soul are given More pure revealings Of holiest love and truth. Yet is the mildness of her eyes Made up of quickest sympathies Of kindliness and ruth ; So, though some shade of awe doth stir Our souls for one so far above us, lANTHE. 73 We feel secure that she will love us, And cannot keep from loving her. She is a poem, which to me In speech and look is written bright. And to her life's rich harmony Doth ever sing itself aright ; Dear, glorious creature ! With eyes so dewy bright, And tenderest feeling Itself revealing In every look and feature, Welcome as a homestead light To one long-wandering in a clouded night ; O, lovelier for her woman's weakness, Which yet is strongly mailed In armor of courageous meekness And faith that never failed ! 74 lANTHE. VI. Early and late, at her soul's gate, Sits Chastity in wardervvise. No thought unchallenged, small or great, Goes thence into her eyes ; Nor may a low, unworthy thought Beyond that virgin warder win. Nor one, whose password is not " ought," May go without or enter in. I call her, seeing those pure eyes, The Eve of a new Paradise, Which she by gentle word and deed. And look no less, doth still create About her, for her great thoughts breed A calm that lifts us from our fallen state, And makes us while with her both good and great, Nor is their memory wanting in our need : With stronger loving, every hour, Turneth my heart to this frail flower, Which, thoughtless of the world, hath grown iantHe. 75 To beauty and meek gentleness, Here in a fair world of its own, — By woman's instinct trained alone, — A lily fair which God did bless, And which from Nature's heart did draw Love, wisdom, peace, and Heaven's perfect law. 76 LOVE'S ALTAR. I. I BUILT an altar in my soul, I builded it to one alone ; And ever silently I stole, In happy days of long-agone. To make rich offerings to that one. II. 'T was garlanded with purest thought, And crowned with fancy's flowers bright, With choicest gems 't was all inwrought Of truth and feeling ; in my sight It seemed a spot of cloudless light. LOVE'S ALTAR. 77 III. Yet when I made my offering there, Like Cain's, the incense would not rise ; Back on my heart down-sank the prayer, And altar-stone and sacrifice Grew hateful in my tear-dimmed eyes. IV. O'er-grown with age's mosses green. The little altar firmly stands ; It is not, as it once hath been, A selfish shrine ; — these time-taught hands Bring incense now from many lands. V. Knowledge doth only widen love ; The stream, that lone and narrow rose. Doth, deepening ever, onward move. And with an even current flows Calmer and calmer to the close. 78 LOVE'S ALTAR, VI. The love, that in those early days Girt round my spirit as a wall, Hath faded like a morning haze, And flames, unpent by self's mean thrall, Rise clearly to the perfect all. 79 MY LOVE. I. Not as all other women are Is she that to my soul is dear; Her glorious fancies come from far Beneath the silver evening-star, And yet her heart is ever near. II. Great feelings hath she of her own Which lesser souls may never know ; God giveth them to her alone, And sweet they are as any tone Wherewith the wind may choose to blow. 80 MY LOVE. IIT. Yet in herself she dwelleth not, Although no home were half so fair ; No simplest duty is forgot, Life hath no dim and lowly spot That doth not in her sunshine share. IV. She doeth little kindnesses. Which most leave undone, or despise ; For nought that sets one heart at ease. And giveth happiness or peace. Is low-esteemed in her eyes. V. She hath no scorn of com.mon things. And, though she seem of other birth. Round us her heart entwines and clings. And patiently she folds her wings To tread the humble paths of life. MY LOVE. 81 VI. Blessing she is : God made her so, And deeds of week-day holiness Fall from her noiseless as the snow, Nor hath she ever chanced to know That aught were easier than to bless. VII. She is most fair, and thereunto Her life doth rightly harmonize ; Feeling or thought that was not true Ne'er made less beautiful the blue ^ Unclouded heaven of her eyes. / VIII. On Nature she doth muse and brood With such a still and love-clear eye, — She is so gentle and so good, — The very flowers in the wood Do bless her with their sympathy. 6 82 MY LOVE. IX. She is a woman : one in whom The spring-time of her childish years Hath never lost its fresh perfume, Though knowing well that life hath room For many blights and m.any tears. X. And youth in her a home will find, Where he may dwell eternally ; Her soul is not of that weak kind Which better love the life behind Than that which is, or is to be. XI. I love her with a love as still As a broad river's peaceful might, Which, by high tower and lowly mill, Goes wandering at its own will. And yet doth ever flow aright. MY LOVE. 83 XII. And, on its full, deep breast serene. Like quiet isles my duties lie ; It flows around them and between, And makes them fresh and fair and green, Sweet homes wherein to live and die. 84 WITH A PRESSED FLOWER. This little flower from afar Hath come from other lands to thine ; For, once, its white and drooping star Could see its shadow in the Rhine. Perchance some fair-haired German maid Hath plucked one from the self-same stalk, And numbered over, half afraid, Its petals in her evening walk. " He loves me, loves me not," she cries ; | " He loves me more than earth or Heaven ! "^ And then glad tears have filled her eyes To find the number was uneven. WITH A PRESSED FLOWER. 85 So, Love, my heart doth wander forth To farthest lands beyond the sea, And search the fairest spots of earth To find sweet flowers of thought for thee. A type this tiny blossom is Of what my heart doth every day, Seeking for pleasant fantasies To brood upon when thou 'rt away. And thou must count its petals well. Because it is a gift from me ; And the last one of all shall tell Something I 've often told to thee. But here at home, where we were born. Thou wilt find flowers just as true, Down-bending every summer morn With freshness of New-England dew. 86 WITH A PRESSED FLOWER. For Nature, ever right in love, Hath given them the same sweet tongue. Whether with German skies above, Or here our granite rocks among. 87 IMPARTIALITY. I. I CANNOT say a scene is fair Because it is beloved of thee, Bat I shall love to linger there, For sake of thy dear memory ; I would not be so coldly just As to love only what I must. II. I cannot say a thought is good Because thou foundest joy in it ; Each soul must choose its proper food Which Nature hath decreed most fit ; But I shall ever deem it so Because it made thy heart o'erflow. 88 IMPARTIALITY. III. I love thee for that thou art fair ; And that thy spirit joys in aught Createth a new beauty there, With thine own dearest image fraught ; And love, for others' sake that springs, Gives half their charm to lovely things. 89 BELLEROPHON. DEDICATED TO MY FRIEND, JOHN T. HEATH. I. I FEEL the bandages unroll That bound my inward seeing ; Freed are the bright wings of my soul, Types of my god-like being ; High thoughts are swelling in my heart And rushing through my brain ; May I never more lose part In my soul's realm again ! All things fair, where'er they be, In earth or air, in sky or sea, I have loved them all, and taken All within my throbbing breast ; No more my spirit can be shaken From its calm and kingly rest ! 90 BELLEROPHON. Love hath shed its light around me, Love hath pierced the shades that bound mc Mine eyes are opened, I can see The universe's mystery, The mighty heart and core Of After and Before I see, and I am weak no more ! II. Upward ! upward evermore. To Heaven's open gate I soar ! Little thoughts are far behind mo. Which, when custom weaves together. All the nobler man can tether, — Cobwebs now no more can bind me ! Now fold thy wings a little while, My tranced soul, and lie At rest on this Calypso-isle That floats in mellow sky ; A thousand isles with gentle motion Rock upon the sunset ocean ; BELLEROPHON. 91 A thousand isles of thousand hues, How bright ! how beautiful ! how rare ! Into my spirit they infuse A purer, a diviner air ; The earth is growing dimmer, And now the last faint glimmer Hath faded from the hill ; But in my higher atmosphere The sun-light streameth red and clear, Fringing the islets still ; — Love lifts us to the sun-light. Though the whole world be dark ; Love, wide Love, is the one light, All else is but a fading spark ; Love is the nectar which doth fill Our soul's cup even to overflowing. And, warming heart, and thought, and will, Doth lie within us mildly glowing. From its own centre raying out Beauty and Truth on all without. 92 BELLEROPHON. III. Each on his golden throne, Full royally, alone, I see the stars above me With sceptre and with diadem ; Mildly they look down and love me, For I have ever yet loved them. I see their ever-sleepless eyes Watching the growth of destinies ; Calm, sedate. The eyes of Fate, They wink not, nor do roll. But search the depths of soul, — And in those mighty depths they see The germs of all Futurity, Waiting but the fitting time To burst and ripen into prime. As in the womb of mother Earth The seeds of plants and forests lie Age upon age and never die, — BELLEROPHON. 93 So in the souls of all men wait Undyingly the seeds of Fate ; Chance breaks the clod, and forth they spring, Filling blind men with wondering. Eternal stars ! with holy awe, As if a present God I saw, I look into those mighty eyes And see great destinies arise, As in those of mortal men Feelings glow and fade agen ! All things below, all things above, Are open to the eyes of Love. IV. Of Knowledge Love is master-key, Knowledge of Beauty ; passing dear Is each to each, and mutually Each one doth make the other clear ; Beauty is Love, and what we love Straightway is beautiful, 94 BELLEROPHON. So is the circle round and full, And so dear Love doth live and move And have his being, Finding his proper food, By sure inseeing, In all things pure and good, Which he at will doth cull, Like a joyous butterfly Hiving in the sunny bowers Of the soul's fairest flowers. Or, between the earth and sky. Wandering at liberty For happy, happy hours ! V. The thoughts of Love are Poesy, As this fair earth and all we see Are the thoughts of Deity, — And Love is ours by our birthright ! He hath cleared mine inward sight ; BELLEROPIION. 95 Glorious shapes with glorious eyes Round about my spirit glance, Shedding a mild and golden light On the shadowy face of Night ; To unearthly melodies, Hand in hand, they weave their dance. While a deep, ambrosial lustre From their rounded limbs doth shine, Through many a rich and golden cluster Of streaming hair divine. In our gross and earthly hours We cannot see the Love-given powers Which ever round the soul await To do its sovereign will. When, in its moments calm and still. It re-assumes its royal state. Nor longer sits with eyes down-cast, A beggar, dreaming of the past. At its own palace-gate. 96 BELLEROPHON. VI. I too am a Maker and Poet ; Through my whole soul I feel it and know it My veins are fired with ecstasy ! All-mother Earth Did ne'er give birth To one who shall be matched with me; The lustre of my coronal Shall cast a dimness over all : — Alas ! alas ! what have I spoken ? My strong, my eagle wings are broken, And back again to earth I fall ! 97 SOMETHING NATURAL. When first I saw thy soul-deep eyes, My heart yearned to thee instantly, Strange longing in my soul did risQ ; I cannot tell the reason why, But I must love thee till I die. II. The sight of thee hath well nigh grown As needful to. me as the light ; I am uftj?estful when alone. And my heart doth not beat aright Except it dwelb within thy sight., 7 98 SOMETHING NATURAL, III. And yet, — and yet, — O selfish love ! I am not happy even with thee ; I see thee in thy brighteess move, And cannot well-contented be, Save thou should'st shkie alone for me. IV. We should love beauty even as flowers, ■ For all, 't is said, they bud and blow. They are the world's as well as ours, — But thou, — alas ! God made thee grow So fair, I cannot love thee so ! 99 THE SYRENS. The sea is lonely, the sea is dreary, The sea is restless and uneasy ; Thou seekest quiet, thou art weary. Wandering thou knowest not whither ; — Our little isle is green and breezy. Come and rest thee ! O come hither ! Come to this peaceful home of ours, Where evermore The low west-wind creeps panting up the shore To he at rest among the flowers ; Full of rest, the green moss lifts, As the dark waves of the sea Draw in and out of rocky rifts, Calling solemnly to thee 100 THE SYRENS. With voices deep and hollow, — " To the shore Follow ! O follow ! To be at rest for evermore ! For evermore ! " Look how the gray, old Ocean From the depth of his heart rejoices, Heaving with a gentle motion. When he hears our restful voices ; List how he sings in an undertone. Chiming with our melody ; And all sweet sounds of earth and air Melt into one low voice alone, That murmurs over the weary sea, — And seems to sing from everywhere, — " Here mayest thou harbour peacefully. Here mayest thou rest from the aching oar ; Turn thy curved prow ashore. And in our green isle rest for evermore ! For evermore ! " THE SYRENS. 101 And Echo half wakes in the wooded hill, And, to her heart so calm and deep, Murmurs over in her sleep, Doubtfully pausing and murmuring still, " Evermore ! " Thus, on Life's weary sea, Heareth the marinere Voices sweet, from far and near, Ever singing low and clear. Ever singing longingly. Is it not better here to be. Than to be toiling late and soon .? In the dreary night to see Nothing but the blood-red moon Go up and down into the sea ; Or, in the loneliness of day. To see the still seals only Solemnly lift their faces gray. Making it yet more lonely ? 10^ THE SYRENS. Is it not better, than to hear Only the sliding of the wave Beneath the plank, and feel so near A cold and lonely grave, A restless grave, where thou shalt lie Even in death unquietly ? Look down beneath thy wave -worn bark. Lean over the side and see The leaden eye of the side-long shark Upturned patiently. Ever waiting there for thee : Look down and see those shapeless forms, Which ever keep their dreamless sleep Far down within the gloomy deep, And only stir themselves in storms, Rising like islands from beneath. And snorting through the angry spray. As the frail vessel perisheth In the whirls of their unwieldy play ; Look down ! Look down ! THE SYRENS. 103 Upon the seaweed, slimy and dark, That waves its arms so lank and brown. Beckoning for thee ! Look down beneath thy wave-worn bark Into the cold depth of the sea ! Look down ! Look down ! Thus, on Life's lonely sea, Heareth the marinere Voices sad, from far and near, Ever singing full of fear. Ever singing drearfuUy. Here all is pleasant as a dream ; The wind scarce shaketh down the dew, The green grass floweth like a stream Into the ocean's blue : Listen ! O listen ! Here is a gush of many streams, A song of many birds. And every wish and longing seems Lulled to a numbered flow of words, — 104 THE SYRENS. Listen ! O listen ! Here ever hum the golden bees Underneath full-blossomed trees, At once with glowing fruit and flowers crowned ; — The sand is so smooth, the yellow sand, That thy keel will not grate, as it touches the land; All around, with a slumberous sound. The singing waves slide up the strand. And there, where the smooth, wet pebbles be. The waters gurgle longingly. As if they fain would seek the shore. To be at rest from the ceaseless roar. To be at rest for evermore, — ^ For evermore. Thus, on Life's gloomy sea, Heareth the marinere Voices sweet, from far and near, Ever singing in his ear, " Here is rest and peace for thee ! " Nantasket, July, 1840. 105 A FEELING. The flowers and the grass to me Are eloquent reproachfully ; For would they wave so pleasantly Or look so fresh and fair, If a man cunning, hollow, mean, Or one in anywise unclean. Were looking on them there ? No ; he hath grown so foolish-wise He cannot see with childhood's eyes ; He hath forgot that purity And lowliness which are the key Of Nature's mysteries ; No ; he hath wandered off so long 106 A FEELING. From his own place of birth, That he hath lost his mother-tongue, And, like one come from far-off lands. Forgetting and forgot, he stands Beside his mother's hearth. 107 THE BEGGAR. A BEGGAR through the world am I, From place to place I wander by ; — Fill up my pilgrim's scrip for me, For Christ's sweet sake and charity ! A little of thy steadfastness, Rounded with leafy gracefulness, Old oak, give me, — That the world's blasts may round me blow, And I yield gently to and fro. While my stout-hearted trunk below And firm-set roots unmoved be. 108 THE BEGGAR. Some of thy stern, unyielding might, Enduring still through day and night Rude tempest-shock and withering blight, - That I may keep at bay The changeful April sky of chance And the strong tide of circumstance, — Give me, old granite gray. Some of thy mournfulness serene, Some of thy never-dying green, Put in this scrip of mine, — That griefe may fall like snowflakes light. And deck me in a robe of white. Ready to be an angel bright, — O sweetly-mournful pine. A little of thy merriment. Of thy sparkling, light content. Give me, my cheerful brook, — That I may still be full of glee THE BEGGAR. 109 And gladsomeness, where'er I be, Though fickle fate hath prisoned me In some neglected nook. Ye have been very kind and good To me, since I 've been in the wood ; Ye have gone nigh to fill my heart ; But good bye, kind friends, every one, I 've far to go ere set of sun ; Of all good things I would have part, The day was high ere I could start, And so my journey 's scarce begun. Heaven help me ! how could I forget To beg of thee, dear violet ! Some of thy modesty. That flowers here as well, unseen. As if before the world thou 'dst been, O give, to strengthen me. no SERENADE. From the close-shut windows gleams no spark, The night is chilly, the night is dark, The poplars shiver, the pine-trees moan, My hair by the autumn breeze is blown, Under thy window I sing alone, Alone, alone, ah woe ! alone ! The darkness is pressing coldly around, The windows shake with a lonely sound, The stars are hid and the night is drear, The heart of silence throbs in thine ear, In thy chamber thou sittest alone. Alone, alone, ah woe ! alone ! SERENADE. HI The world is happy, the world is wide, Kind hearts are beating on every side ; Ah, why should we lie so curled Alone in the shell of this great world ? Why should we any more be alone ? Alone, alone, ah woe ! alone ! O ! 't is a bitter and dreary word. The saddest by man's ear ever heard ; We each are young, we each have a heart, Why stand we ever coldly apart ? Must we for ever, then, be alone ? Alone, alone, ah woe ! alone ! 112 iRENi:. Her's is a spirit deep and crystal-clear ; Calmly beneath her earnest face it lies, Free without boldness, meek without a fear. Quicker to look than speak its sympathies ; Far down into her large and patient eyes I gaze, deep-drinking of the infinite, As, in the mid-watch of a clear, still night, I look into the fathomless blue skies. So circled lives she with Love's holy light. That from the shade of self she walketh free ; The garden of her soul still keepeth she An Eden where the snake did never enter; She hath a natural, wise sincerity. IRENE, 113 A simple truthfulness, and these have lent her A dignity as moveless as the centre ; So that no influence of earth can stir Her steadfast courage, or can take away The holy peacefulness, which, night and day, Unto her queenly soul doth minister. Most gentle is she ; her large charity (An all unwitting, childlike gift in her) Not freer is to give than meek to bear ; And, though herself not unacquaint with care, Hath in her heart wide room for all that be, — Her heart that hath no secrets of its own. But open is as eglantine full-blown. Cloudless for ever is her brow serene, Speaking calm hope and trust within her, whence Welleth a noiseless spring of patience That keepeth all her life so fresh, so green And full of holiness, that every look. The greatness of her woman's soul revealing. 114 IRENE. Unto me bringeth blessing, and a feeling As when I read in God's own holy book. A graciousness in giving that doth make The smallest gift greatest, and a sense most meek Of worthiness, that doth not fear to take From others, but which always fears to speak Its thanks in utterance, for the giver's sake ; — The deep religion of a thankful heart, Which rests instinctively in Heaven's law With a full peace, that never can depart From its own steadfastness ; — a holy awe For holy things, not those which men call holy. But such as are revealed to the eyes Of a true woman's soul bent down and lowly Before the face of daily mysteries ; — A love that blossoms soon, but ripens slowly To the full goldenness of fruitful prime. Enduring with a firmness that defies All shallow tricks of circumstance and time. IRENE. 115 By a sure insight knowing where to chng, And where it clingeth never withering, — These are Irene's dowry, — which no fate Can shake from their serene, deep-builded state. In-seeing sympathy is hers, which chasteneth No less than loveth, scorning to be bound With fear of blame, and yet which ever hasteneth To pour the balm of kind looks on the wound, If they be wounds which such sweet teaching makes. Giving itself a pang for others' sakes ; No want of faith, that chills with side-long eye, Hath she ; no jealousy, no Levite pride That passeth by upon the other side ; For in her soul there never dwelt a lie. Right from the hand of God her spirit came Unstained, and she hath ne'er forgotten whence It came, nor wandered far from thence, But laboreth to keep her still the same, Near to her place of birth, that she may not Soil her white raiment with an earthly spot. 116 IRENE. Yet sets she not her soul so steadily- Above, that she forgets her ties to earth, But her whole thought would almost seem to be How to make glad one lowly human hearth ; For with a gentle courage she doth strive In thought and word and feeling so to live As to make earth next Heaven ; and her heart Herein doth show its most exceeding worth. That, bearing in our frailty her just part. She hath not shrunk from evils of this life. But hath gone calmly forth into the strife. And all its sins and sorrows hath withstood With lofty strength of patient womanhood : For this I love her great soul more than all, That, being bound, like us, with earthly thrall. She walks so bright and Heaven-wise therein, — Too wise, too meek, too womanly to sin. Exceeding pleasant to mine eyes is she : Like a lone star through riven storm-clouds seen IRENE. 117 By sailors, tempest-tost upon the sea, Telling of rest and peaceful heavens nigh, Unto my soul her star-like soul hath been. Her sight as full of hope and calm to me ; -^ For she unto herself hath builded high A home serene, wherein to lay her head, Earth's noblest thing, — a Woman perfected. 118 THE LOST CHILD. I WANDERED down a sunny glade And ever mused, my love, of thee ; My thoughts, like little children, played, As gaily and as guilelessly. II. If any chanced to go astray, Moaning in fear of coming harms, Hope brought the wanderer back alway. Safe-nestled in her snowy arms. III. From that soft nest the happy one Looked up at me and calmly smiled ; THE LOST CHILD. ' 119 Its hair shone golden in the sun, And made it seem a heavenly child. IV. Dear Hope's blue eyes smiled mildly down, And blest it with a love so deep, That, like a nursling of her own, It clasped her neck and fell asleep. 120 THE CHURCH. I. I LOVE the rites of England's church, I love to hear and see The priest and people reading slow The solemn Litany ; I love to hear the glorious swell Of chanted psalm and prayer, And the deep organ's bursting heart Throb through the shivering air. II. Chants, that a thousand years have heard, I love to hear again. For visions of the olden time Are wakened by the strain ; THE CHURCH. 121 With gorgeous hues the window-glass Seems suddenly to glow, And rich and red the streams of light Down through the chancel flow. III. And then I murmur, " Surely God Delighteth here to dwell ; This is the temple of his Son Whom he doth love so well ; " But, when I hear the creed which saith, This church alone is His, I feel within my soul that He Hath purer shrines than this. IV. For his is not the builded church, Nor organ-shaken dome ; In every thing that lovely is He loves and hath his home ; 122 THE CHURCH. And most in soul that loveth well All things which he hath made, Knowing no creed but simple faith That may not be gainsaid. V. His church is universal Love, And whoso dwells therein Shall need no customed sacrifice To wash away his sin ; And music in its aisles shall swell Of lives upright and true, Sweet as dreamed sounds of angel-harps Down-quivering through the blue. VI. They shall not ask a litany, The souls that worship there. But every look shall be a hymn. And every word a prayer ; THE CHURCH. 123 Their service shall be written bright In calm and holy eyes, And every day from fragrant hearts Fit incense shall arise. 124 THE UNLOVELY. The pretty things that others wear Look strange and out of place on me, I never seem Pressed tastefully, Because I am not fair ; And, when I would most pleasing seem, And deck myseli with joyful care, I find it is an idle dream. Because I am not fair. If I put roses in my hair. They bloom as if in mockery ; Nature denies her sympathy. Because I am not fair ; THE UNLOVELY. 125 Alas ! I have a warm, true heart, / But when I show it people stare ; ' I must for ever dwell apart, Because I am not fair. I am least happy being where The hearts of others are most light, And strive to keep me out of sight, Because I am not fair ; The glad ones often give a glance. As I am sitting lonely there. That asks me why I do not dance, — Because I am not fair. And if to smile on them I dare. For that my heart with love runs o'er. They say ; " What is she laughing for? " — Because I am not fair ; 126 THE UNLOVELY. Love scorned or misinterpreted, — It is the hardest thing to bear ; I often wish that I were dead, Because I am not fair. In joy or grief I must not share, For neither smiles nor tears on me Will ever look becomingly, Because I am not fair ; Whole days I sit alone and cry. And in my grave I wish I were, — Yet none will weep me if I die. Because I am not fair. My grave will be so lone and bare, I fear to think of those dark hours. For none will plant it o'er with flowers. Because I am not fair ; THE UNLOVELY. 127 They will not in the summer come And speak kind words above me there ; To me the grave will be no home, Because I am not fair. 1^8 LOVE-SONG. Nearer to thy mother-heart, Simple Nature, press me. Let me know thee as thou art, Fill my soul and bless me ! I have loved thee long and well, I have loved thee heartily ; Shall I never in thee dwell. Never be at one with thee ? Inward, inward to thy heart. Kindly Nature, take me. Lovely even as thou art. Full of loving make me ! LOVE-SONG. 129 Thou knowest nought of dead-cold forms, Knowest nought of littleness, Lifeful Truth thy being warms. Majesty and earnestness. Homeward, homeward to thy hearty Dearest Nature, call me ; Let no halfness, no mean part, Any longer thrall me ! I will be thy lover true, Will be a faithful soul. Then circle me, then look me through, Fill me with the mighty Whole. 130 SONG. All things are sad : — I go and ask of Memory, That she tell sweet tales to me To make me glad ; And she takes me by the hand, Leadeth to old places, Showeth the old faces In her hazy mirage-land ; O, her voice is sweet and low, And her eyes are fresh to mine As the dew Gleaming through The half-unfoMed eglantine. Long ago, long ago ! SONG. 131 But I feel that I am only Yet more sad, and yet more lonely ! Then I turn to blue-eyed Hope, And beg of her that she will ope Her golden gates for me ; She is fair and full of grace. But she hath the form and face Of her mother Memory ; Clear as air her glad voice ringeth. Joyous are the songs she singeth. Yet I hear them mournfully ; — They are songs her mother taught her, Crooning to her infant daughter. As she lay upon her knee. Many little ones she bore me, Woe is me ! in by-gone hours. Who danced along and sang before me, Scattering my way with flowers ; One by one They are gone, 132 SONG. And their silent graves are seen, Shining fresh with mosses green, Where the rising sunbeams slope O'er the dewy land of Hope. But, when sweet Memory faileth. And Hope looks strange and cold ; When youth no more availeth. And Grief grows over bold ; — When softest winds are dreary, And summer sunlight weary. And sweetest things uncheery. We know not why ; — When the crown of our desires Weighs upon the brow and tires. And we would die. Die for, ah ! we know not what. Something we seem to have forgot. Something we had, and now have not; When the present is a weight And the future seems our foe, SONG. ^ 133 And with shrinking eyes we wait, As one who dreads a sudden blow In the dark, he knows not whence ; — When Love at last his bright eye closes, And the bloom upon his face, That lends him such a living grace. Is a shadow from the roses Wherewith we have decked his bier, Because he once v/as passing dear ; — When we feel a leaden sense Of nothingness and impotence. Till we grow mad, — Then the body saith, " There 's but one true faith ; All things are sad ! " 134 A LOVE-DREAM. Pleasant thoughts come wandering, When thou art far, from thee to me ; On their silver wings they bring A very peaceful ecstasy, A feeling of eternal spring ; So that Winter half forgets Every thing but that thou art. And, in his bewildered heart, Dreameth of the violets, Or those bluer flowers that ope. Flowers of steadfast love and hope, Watered by the living wells Of memories dear, and dearer prophecies, Where young Spring for ever dwells In the sunshine of thine eyes. A LOVE-DREAM. 135 I have most holy dreams of thee, All night I have such dreams ; And, when I wake, reality No whit the darker seems ; Through the twin gates of Hope and Memory They pour in crystal streams From out an angel's calmed eyes. Who, from twilight till sunrise. Far away in the upper deep. Poised upon his shining wings. Over us his watch doth keep. And, as he watcheth, ever sings. Through the still night I hear him sing, Down-looking on our sleep ; I hear his clear, clear harp-strings ring, And, as the golden notes take wing, Gently downward hovering, For very joy I weep ; 136 A LOVE-DREAM. He singeth songs of holy Love, That quiver through the depths afar, Where the blessed spirits are, And lingeringly from above Shower till the morning star His silver shield hath buckled on And sentinels the dawn alone, Quivering his gleamy spear Through the dusky atmosphere. Almost, my love, I fear the morn, When that blessed voice shall cease. Lest it should leave me quite forlorn, Stript of my snowy robe of peace ; And yet the bright reality Is fairer than all dreams can be. For, through my spirit, all day long. Ring echoes of that angel-song In melodious thoughts of thee ; A LOVE-DREAM. 137 And well I know it cannot die Till eternal morn shall break, For, through life's slumber, thou and I Will keep it for each other's sake, And it shall not be silent when we wake. 1S8 FOURTH OF JULY ODE. Our fathers fought for Liberty, They struggled long and well, History of their deeds can tell, — But did they leave us free ? II. Are we free from vanity, Free from pride, and free from self, Free from love of power and pelf. From every thing that 's beggarly ? III. Are we free from stubborn will. From low hate and malice small. FOURTH OF JULY ODE. 139 From opinion's tyrant thrall ? Are none of us our own slaves still ? IV. Are we free to speak our thought, To be happy, and be poor. Free to enter Heaven's door, To live and labor as we ought ? V. Are we then made free at last From the fear of what men say. Free to reverence To-day, Free from the slavery of the Past ? VI. Our fathers fought for liberty, They struggled long and well. History of their deeds can tell, — But ourselves must set us free ! 140 SPHINX. I. Why mourn we for the golden prime When our young souls icere kingly, strong, and true The soul is greater than all time, It changes not, but yet is ever new. II. But that the soul is noble, we Could never know what nobleness had been ; Be what ye dream ! and earth shall see A greater greatness than she e'er hath seen. III. The flower pines not to be fair, It never asketh to be sweet and dear. SPHINX. 141 But gives itself to sun and air, And so is fresh and full from year to year. IV. Nothing in Nature weeps its lot, Nothing, save man, abides in memory, Forgetful that the Past is what Ourselves may choose the coming time to be. V. All things are circular ; the Past Was given us to make the Future great ; And the void Future shall at last Be the strong rudder of an after fate. VI. We sit beside the Sphinx of Life, We gaze into its void, unanswering eyes. And spend ourselves in idle strife To read the riddle of their mysteries. 142 SPHINX. VII. Arise ! be earnest and be strong ! The Sphinx's eyes shall suddenly grow clear, And speak as plain to thee ere long, As the dear maiden's who holds thee most dear. VIII. The meaning of all things in us, — Yea, in the lives we give our souls, — doth lie ; Make, then, their meaning glorious By such a life as need not fear to die ! IX. There is no heart-beat in the day. Which bears a record of the smallest deed, But holds within its faith alway That which in doubt we vainly strive to read. X. One seed contains another seed. And that a third, and so for evermore ; SPHINX. 143 And promise of as great a deed Lies folded in the deed that went before. XI. So ask not fitting space or time ; Ye could not dream of things which could not be ; Each day shall make the next sublime, And Time be swallowed in Eternity. XII. God bless the Present ! it is all ; It has been Future, and it shall be Past ; Awake and live ! thy strength recall, And in one trinity unite them fast. XIII. Action and Life, — lo ! here the key Of all on earth that seemeth dark and wrong ; Win this, — and, with it, freely ye May enter that bright realm for which ye long. 144 SPHINX. I XIV. Then all these bitter questionings ^hall with a full and blessed answer meet ; Past worlds, whereof the Poet sings, Shall be the earth beneath his snow-white feet. 145 SONNETS. DISAPPOINTMENT. I PRAY thee call not this society ; I asked for bread, thou givest me a'stone-;- I am an hungered, and I find not one To give me meat, to joy or grieve with me ; I find not here what I went out to see, — Souls of true men, of women who can move The deeper, better part of us to love. Souls that can hold with mine communion free. Alas ! must then these hopes, these longings high. This yearning of the soul for., brotherhood, And all that makes us pure, and wise, and good, Come broken-hearted, home again to die? No, Hope is left, and prays with bended head, " Give us this day, O God, our daily bread ! " 10 146 SONNETS. II. Great human nature, whither art thou fled ? Are these things creeping forth and back agen, These hollow formalists and echoes, men ? Art thou entombed with the mighty dead ? In God's name, no ! not yet hath all been said, Or done, or longed for, that is truly great ; These pitiful, dried crusts will never sate Natures for which pure Truth is daily bread ; We were not meant to plod along the earth, Strange to ourselves and to our fellows strange ; We were not meant to struggle from our birth To skulk and creep, and in mean pathways range ; Act ! with stern truth, large faith, and loving will ! Up and be doing ! God is with us still. SONNETS. 147 III. TO A FRIEND. One strip of bark may feed the broken tree, Giving to some few limbs a sickly green ; And one light shower on the hills, I ween. May keep the spring from drying utterly. Thus seemeth it with these our hearts to be ; Hope is the strip of bark, the shower of rain. And so they are not wholly crushed with pain^ But live and linger on, far sadder sight to see ! Much do they err, who tell us that the heart May not be broken ; what, then, can we call A broken heart, if this may not be so. This death in life, when, shrouded in its pallj Shunning and shunned', it dwelleth all apart, Its power, its love, its sympathy laid low ? 148 SONNETS. IV. CONTINUED. So it may be, but let it not be so, O, let it not be so with thee, my friend ; Be of good courage, bear up to the end, And on thine after way rejoicing go ! We all must suffer, if we aught would know ; Life is a teacher stern, and wisdom's crown Is oft a crown of thorns, whence, trickling down. Blood, mixed with tears, blinding our eyes doth flow ; But Time, a gentle nurse, shall wipe away This bloody sweat, and thou shalt find on earth. That woman is not all in all to Love, But, living by a new and second birth, Thy soul shall see all things below, above. Grow bright and brighter to the perfect day. SONNETS. 149 V. O CHILD of Nature ! O most meek and free, Most gentle spirit of true nobleness ! Thou doest not a worthy deed the less Because the world may not its greatness see ; What were a thousand triumphings to thee, Who, in thyself, art as a perfect sphere Wrapt in a bright and natural atmosphere Of mighty-souledness and majesty ? Thy soul is not too high for lowly things. Feels not its strength seeing a brother weak, Not for itself unto itself is dear. But for that it may guide the wanderings Of fellow-men, and to their spirits speak The lofty faith of heart that knows no fear. 150 SONNETS. VI. " For this true nobleness I seek in vain, In woman and in man I find it not ; I almost weary of my earthly lot, My life-springs are dried up with burning pain." — Thou find'st it not ? I pray ihee look again, Look inward through the depths of thine own soul ; How is it with thee ? Art thou sound and whole ? Doth narrow search show thee no earthly stain ? Be noble ! and the nobleness that lies In other men, sleeping but never dead, Will rise in majesty to meet thine own ; Then wilt thou see it gleam in many eyes, Then will pure light around thy path be shed, And thou wilt nevermore be sad and lone. BONNETS. 151 VII. TO Deem it no Sodom-fruit of vanity, Or fickle fantasy of unripe youth Which ever takes the fairest shows for truth, That I should wish my verse beloved of thee ; 'T is love's deep thirst which may not quenched be. There is a gulf of longing and unrest, A wild love-craving not to be represt. Whereto in all our hearts, as to the sea. The streams of feeling do for ever flow. Therefore it is that thy well-meted praise Falleth so shower-like and fresh on me, Filling those springs which else had sunk full low, Lost in the dreary desert-sands of woe, Or parched by passion's fierce and withering blaze. 152 SONNETS. VIII. CONTINUED. Might I but be beloved, and, O most fair And perfect-ordered soul, beloved of thee, How should I feel a cloud of earthly care. If thy blue eyes were ever clear to me ? ; O woman's love ! O flower most bright and rare ! That blossom'st brightest in extremest need, Woe, woe is me ! that thy so precious seed Is ever sown by Fancy's changeful air, And grows sometimes in poor and barren hearts. Who can be little even in the light Of thy meek holiness, — while souls more great Are left to wander in a starless night. Praying unheard, — and yet the hardest parts Befit those best who best can cope with Fate. SONNETS. 153 IX. Why should we ever weary of this life ? Our souls should widen ever, not contract, Grow stronger, and not harder, in the strife, Filling each moment with a noble act : If we live thus, of vigor all compact. Doing our duty to our fellow-men. And striving rather to exalt our race Than our poor selves, with earnest hand or pen. We shall erect our names a dwelling-place Which not all ages shall cast down agen ; Offspring of Time shall then be born each hour. Which, as of old, earth lovingly shall guard. To live for ever in youth's perfect flower. And guide her future children Heavenward. 154 SONNETS. X. GREEN MOUNTAINS. Ye mountains, that far off lift up your heads, Seen dimly through their canopies of blue, The shade of my unrestful spirit sheds Distance-created beauty over you ; I am not well content with this far view ; How may I know what foot of loved-one treads Your rocks moss-grown and sun-dried torrent beds ? We should love all things better, if we knew What claims the meanest have upon our hearts : Perchance even now some eye, that would be bright To meet my own, looks on your mist-robed forms ; Perchance your grandeur a deep joy imparts To souls that have encircled mine with light, — O brother-heart, with thee my spirit warms ! SONNETS. 155 XI. My friend, adown Life's valley, hand in hand. With grateful change of grave and merry speech Or song, our hearts unlocking each to each. We '11 journey onward to the silent land ; And when stern Death shall loose that loving band, Taking in his cold hand a hand of ours. The one shall strew the other's grave with flowers. Nor shall his heart a moment be unmanned. My friend and brother ! if thou goest first. Wilt thou no more re-visit me below ? Yea, when my heart seems happy causelessly And swells, not dreaming why, as it would burst With joy unspeakable, — my soul shall know That thou, unseen, art bending over me. 156 SONNETS. XII. Verse cannot say how beautiful thou art, How glorious the calmness of thine eyes, Full of unconquerable energies. Telling that thou hast acted well thy part. No doubt or fear thy steady faith can start, No thought of evil dare come nigh to thee, Who hast the courage meek of purity. The self-stayed greatness of a loving heart. Strong with serene, enduring fortitude ; Where'er thou art, that seems thy fitting place, For not of forms, but Nature, art thou child ; And lowest things put on a noble grace When touched by ye, O patient, Ruth-like, mild And spotless hands of earnest womanhood. SONNETS. 157 XIII. The soul would fain its lovingkindness tell, But custom hangs like lead upon the tongue ; The heart is brimful, hollow crowds among. When it finds one whose life and thought are well ; Up to the eyes its gushing love doth swell. The angel cometh and the waters move, Yet is it fearful still to say " I love," And words come grating as a jangled bell. O might we only speak but what we feel. Might the tongue pay but what the heart doth owe, Not Heaven's great thunder, when, deep peal on peal, It shakes the earth, could rouse our spirits so. Or to the soul such majesty reveal. As two short words half-spoken faint and low ! 158 SONNETS XIV. I SAW a gate : a harsh voice spake and said, " This is the gate of Life ; " above was writ, '' Leave hope behind, all ye who enter it ;" Then shrank my heart within itself for dread ; But, softer than the summer rain is shed. Words dropt upon my soul, and they did say, " Fear nothing, Faith shall save thee, watch and pray ! " So, without fear I lifted up my head. And lo ! that writing was not, one fair word.^ j^ I Was carven in its stead, and it was " Love." Then rained once more those sweet tones from above With healing on their wings : I humbly heard, " I am the Life, ask and it shall be given ! I am the way, by me ye enter Heaven ! " SONNETS. 159 XV. I WOULD not have this perfect love of ours Grow from a single root, a single stem, ' Bearing no goodly fruit, but only flowers That idly hide Life's iron diadem : It should grow alway like that Eastern tree Whose limbs take root and spread forth constantly ; That love for one, from which there doth not spring Wide Love for all, is but a worthless thing. Not in another world, as poets prate. Dwell we apart, above the tide of things. High floating o'er earth's clouds on faery wings ; But our pure love doth ever elevate Into a holy bond of brotherhood All earthly things, making them pure and good. 160 SONNETS. XVI. To the dark, narrow house when loved ones go, Whence no steps outward turn, whose silent door None but the sexton knocks at any more, Are they not sometimes with us yet below ? The longings of the soul would tell us so ; Although, so pure and fine their being's essence, Our bodily eyes are witless of their presence. Yet not within the tomb their spirits glow. Like wizard lamps pent up, but whensoever With great thoughts worthy of their high behests Our souls are filled, those bright ones with us be, As, in the patriarch's tent, his angel guests ; — O let us live so worthily, that never We may be far from that blest company ! SONNETS. 161 XVII. I FAIN would give to thee the loveliest things, For lovely things belong to thee of right, And thou hast been as peaceful to my sight, As the still thoughts that suramer twilight brings ; Beneath the shadow of thine angel wings O let me live ! O let me rest in thee, Growing to thee more and more utterly. Upbearing and upborne, till outward things Are only as they share in thee a part ! Look kindly on me, let thy holy eyes Bless me from the deep fulness of thy heart : So shall my soul in its right strength arise, And nevermore shall pine and shrink and start, Safe sheltered in thy full-souled sympathies. 11 162 SONNETS. XVIII. Much had I mused of Love, and in my soul There was one chamber where I dared not look, So much its dark and dreary voidness shook My spirit, feeling that I was not whole : All my deep longings flowed toward one goal For long, long years, but were not answered, Till Hope was drooping, Faith wellnigh stone-dead, And I was still a blind, earth-delving mole :/ Yet did I know that God was wise and good. And would fulfil my being late or soon ; Nor was such thought in vain, for, seeing thee, Great Love rose up, as, o'er a black pine wood, Round, bright, and clear, upstarteth the full moon, Filling my soul with glory utterly. SONNETS. 163 XIX. Sayest thou, most beautiful, that thou wilt wear Flowers and leafy crowns when thou art old, And that thy heart shall never grow so cold But they shall love to wreathe thy silvered hair And into age's snows the hope of spring-tide bear? O, in thy childlike wisdom's moveless hold Dwell ever ! still the blessings manifold Of purity, of peace, and untaught care For others' hearts, around thy pathway shed. And thou shalt have a crown of deathless flowers To glorify and guard thy blessed head And give their freshness to thy life's last hours ; And, when the Bridegroom calleth, they shall be A wedding-garment white as snow for thee. 164 SONxNETS. XX. Poet ! who sittest in thy pleasant room, Warming thy heart with idle thoughts of love, And of a holy life that leads above, Striving to keep life's spring-flowers still in bloom, And lingering to snufl" their fresh perfume, — 0, there were other duties meant for thee, Than to sit down in peacefulness and Be ! O, there are brother-hearts that dwell in gloom. Souls loathsome, foul, and black with daily sin. So crusted o'er with baseness, that no ray Of Heaven's blessed light may enter in ! Come down, then, to the hot and dusty way, And lead them back to hope and peace again, — For, save in Act, thy Love is all in vain. SONNETS, XXI. "no more but so?" No more but so ? Only with uncold looks, And with a hand not laggard to clasp mine, Think'st thou to pay what debt of love is thine ? No more but so ? Like gushing water-brooks. Freshening and making green the dimmest nooks Of thy friend's soul thy kindliness should flow ; But, if 't is bounded by not saying *' no," I can find more of friendship in my books. All lifeless though they be, and more, far more In every simplest moss, or flower, or tree ; Open to me thy heart of heart's deep core. Or never say that I am dear to thee ; Call me not Friend, if thou keep close the door That leads into thine inmost sympathy. 166 SONNETS. XXII. TO A VOICE HEARD IN MOUNT AUBURN. Like the low warblings of a leaf-hid bird, Thy voice came to me through the screening trees, Singing the simplest, long-known melodies ; I had no glimpse of thee, and yet I heard And blest thee for each clearly-carolled word ; I longed to thank thee, and my heart would frame Mary or Ruth, some sisterly, sweet name For thee, yet could I not my lips have stirred ; I knew that thou wert lovely, that thine eyes Were blue and downcast, and methought large tears, Unknown to thee, up to their lids must rise With half-sad memories of other years. As to thyself alone thou sangest o'er Words that to childhood seemed to say, " No more ! " SONNETS. 167 XXIII. ON READING SPENSER AGAIN. Dear, gentle Spenser ! thou my soul dost lead, A little child again, through Fairyland, By many a bower and stream of golden sand, And many a sunny plain whose light doth breed A sunshine in my happy heart, and feed My fancy whh sweet visions ; I become A knight, and with my charm.ed arms would roam To seek for fame in many a wondrous deed Of high emprize, — for I have seen the light Of Una's angel's face, the golden hair And backward eyes of startled Florimell ; And, for their holy sake, I would outdare A host of cruel Paynims in the fight, Or Archimage and all the powers of Hell. 168 SONNETS, XXIV. Light of mine eyes ! with thy so trusting look, And thy sweet smile of charity and love, That from a treasure well uplaid above, And from a hope in Christ its blessing took ; Light of my heart! which, when it could not brook The coldness of another's sympathy. Finds ever a deep peace and stay in thee, Warm as the sunshine of a mossy nook ; Light of my soul ! who, by thy saintliness And faith that acts itself in daily life. Canst raise me above weakness, and canst bless The hardest thraldom of my earthly strife, — I dare not say how much thou art to me Even to myself, — and O, far less to thee ! SONNETS. 169 XXV. Silent as one who treads on new-fallen snow, Love came upon me ere I was aware ; Not light of heart, for there was troublous care Upon his eyelids, drooping them full low. As with sad memory of a healed woe ; The cold rain shivered in his golden hair. As if an outcast lot had been his share, And he seemed doubtful whither he should go : Then fell he on my neck, and, in my breast Hiding his face, awhile sobbed bitterly, As half in grief to be so long distrest. And half in joy at his security, — At last, uplooking from his place of rest. His eyes shone blessedness and hope on rae. 170 SONNETS. XXVI. A GENTLENESS that grows of steady faith ; A joy that sheds its sunshine everywhere ; A humble strength and readiness to bear Those burthens which strict duty ever lay'th Upon our souls ; — which unto sorrow saith, " Here is no soil for thee to strike thy roots, Here only grow those sweet and precious fruits ; Which ripen for the soul that well obey'th ; " A patience which the world can neither give Nor take away ; a courage strong and high, That dares in simple usefulness to live. And without one sad look behind to die When that day comes ; — these tell me that our love Is building for itself a home above. SONNETS 171 XXVII. When the glad soul is full to overflow, Unto the tongue all power it denies, And only trusts its secret to the eyes ; For, by an inborn wisdom, it doth know There is no other eloquence but so ; And, when the tongue's weak utterance doth suffice, Prisoned within the body's cell it lies. Remembering in tears its exiled woe : That word which all mankind so long to hear. Which bears the spirit back to whence it came, Maketh this sullen clay as crystal clear. And will not be enclouded in a name ; It is a truth which we can can feel and see, But is as boundless as Eternity. 173 SONNETS. XXVIII. TO THE EVENING-STAR. When we have once said lowly, " Evening-star ! " Words give no more, — for, in thy silver pride, Thou shinest as nought else can shine beside : The thick smoke, coiling round the sooty bar Forever, and the customed lamp-light mar The stillness of my thought, — seeing things glide So samely : — then I ope my window wide. And gaze in peace to where thou shin'st afar ; The wind that comes across the faint-white snow So freshly, and the river dimly seen. Seem like new things that never had been so Before ; and thou art bright as thou hast been Since thy white rays put sweetness in the eyes Of the first souls that loved in Paradise. SONNETS. 173 XXIX. READING, As one who on some well-known landscape looks, Be it. alone, or with some dear friend nigh, Each day beholdeth fresh variety. New harmonies of hills, and trees, and brooks, — So is it with the worthiest choice of books, And oftenest read : if thou no meaning spy, Deem there is meaning wanting in thine eye ; We are so lured from judgment by the crooks And winding ways of covert fantasy. Or turned unwittingly down beaten tracks Of our foregone conclusions, that we see. In our own want, the writer's misdeemed lacks : It is with true books as with Nature, each New day of living doth new insight teach. 174 SONNETS. XXX. TO , AFTER A SNOW-STORM. Blue as thine eyes the river gently flows Between his banks, which, far as eye can see, Are whiter than aught else on earth may be, Save inmost thoughts that in thy soul repose ; The trees, all crystalled by the melted snows. Sparkle with gems and silver, such as we In childhood saw 'mong groves of Faerie, And the dear skies are sunny-blue as those ; Still as thy heart, when next mine own it lies In love's full safety, is the bracing air ; The earth is all enwrapt with draperies Snow-white as that pure love might choose to wear, — O for one moment's look into thine eyes^ To share the joy such scene would kindle there ! 175 SONNETS ON NAMES. EDITH. A LILY with its frail cup filled with dew, Down-bending modestly, snow-white and pale. Shedding faint fragrance round its native vale, Minds me of thee, sweet Edith, mild and true, And of thine eyes so innocent and blue : Thy heart is fearful as a startled hare, Yet hath in it a fortitude to bear For Love's sake, and a gentle faith which grew Of Love : need of a stay whereon to lean. Felt in thyself, hath taught thee to uphold And comfort others, and to give, unseen. The kindness thy still love cannot withhold : Maiden, I would my sister thou hadst been. That round thee I my guarding arms might fold. 176 SONNETS ON NAMES. II. ROSE. My ever-lightsome, ever-laughing Rose, Who alway speakest first and thinkest last, Thy full voice is as clear as bugle-blast ; Right from the ear down to the heart it goes And says, " I 'm beautiful ! as who but knows ? " Thy name reminds me of old romping days, Of kisses stolen in dark passage-ways. Or in the parlour, if the moiher-nose Gave sign of drowsy watch. I wonder where Are gone thy tokens, given with a glance So full of everlasting love till morrow. Or a day's endless grieving for the dance Last night denied, backed with a lock of hair That spake of broken hearts and deadly sorrow. SONNETS ON NAMES. 177 III. MARY. Dark hair, dark eyes, — not too dark to be deep And full of feeling, yet enough to glow With fire when angered ; feelings never slow, But which seem rather watching to forthleap From her full breast ; a gently-flowing sweep Of words in common talk, a torrent-rush, Whenever through her soul swift feelings gush ; A heart less ready to be gay than weep. Yet cheerful ever ; a calm matron-smile, That bids God bless you ! a chaste simpleness, With somewhat, too, of " proper pride," in dress ; - This portrait to my mind's eye came, the while I thought of thee, the well-grown woman Mary, Whilome a gold-haired, laughing little fairy. 12 178 SONNETS ON NAMES. IV. CAROLINE. A STAiDNESS sobers o'er her pretty face, Which something but ill-hidden in her eyes, And a quaint look about her lips denies ; A lingering love of girlhood you can trace In her checked laugh and half- restrained pace ; And, when she bears herself most womanly. It seems as if a watchful mother's eye Kept down with sobering glance her childish grace: Yet oftentimes her nature gushes free As water long held back by little hands, Within a pump, and let forth suddenly. Until, her task remembering, she stands A moment silent, smiling doubtfully. Then laughs aloud and scorns her hated bands. SONNETS ON NAMES. 179 V. ANNE. There is a pensiveness in quiet Anne, A mournful drooping of the full, gray eye, As if she had shook hands with Misery, And known some care since her short life began ; Her cheek is seriously pale, nigh wan. And, though of cheerfulness there is no lack, You feel as if she must be dressed in black ; Yet is she not of those who, all they can. Strive to be gay, and, striving, seem most sad, — Her's is not grief, but silent soberness ; You would be startled if you saw her glad. And startled if you saw her weep, no less ; She walks through life, as, on the Sabbath day, She decorously glides to church to pray. 180 GOE, LITTLE BOOKE ! Go, little book I the world is wide, There 's room and verge enough for thee ; For thou hast learned that only pride Lacketh lit opportunity, Which comes unhid to modesty. Go ! win thy way with gentleness : I send thee forth, my first-born child, Quite, quite alone, to face the stress Of fickle skies and pathways wild, Where few can keep them undefiled. Thou camest from a poet's heart, A warm, still home, and full of rest ; Far from the pleasant eyes thou art Of those who know and love thee best. And by whose hearthstones thou wert blest. «'GOE, LITTLE BOOKEl" 181 Go I knock thou softly at the door Where any gentle spirits bin, Tell them thy tender feet are sore, Wandering so far from all thy kin, And ask if thou may enter in. Beg thou a cup-full from the spring Of Charity, in Christ's dear name ; Few will deny so small a thing, Nor ask unkindly if thou came Of one whose life might do thee shame. We all are prone to go astray. Our hopes are bright, our lives are dim ; But thou art pure, and if they say, " We know thy father, and our whim He pleases not," — plead thou for him. For many are by whom all truth. That speaks not in their mother-tongue. Is stoned to death with hands unruth, Or hath its patient spirit wrung Cold words and colder looks among. 182 « ,o-«, < '. AUGUSTINE ^ *^^