Family

1.
Now the last day of many days,
All beautiful and bright as thou,
The loveliest and the last, is dead,
Rise, Memory, and write its praise!
Up, - to thy wonted work! come, trace
The epitaph of glory fled, -
For now the Earth has changed its face,
A frown is on the Heaven's brow.

2.
We wandered to the Pine Forest
That skirts the Ocean's foam,
The lightest wind was in its nest,
The tempest in its home.
The whispering waves were half asleep,
The clouds were gone to play,
And on the bosom of the deep
The smile of Heaven lay;
It seemed as if the hour were one
Sent from beyond the skies,
Which scattered from above the sun
A light of Paradise.

3.
We paused amid the pines that stood
The giants of the waste,
Tor...

POET.
My haunting grief has vanished like a dream,
Its floating fading memory seems one
With those frail mists born of the dawn's first beam,
Dissolving as the dew melts in the sun.


MUSE.
What ailed thee then, O poet mine;
What secret misery was thine,
Which set a bar 'twixt thee and me?
Alas, I suffer from it still;
What was this grief, this unknown ill,
Which I have wept so bitterly?


POET.
'T was but a common grief, well known of men.
But, look you, when our heavy heart is sore,
Fond wretches that we are! we fancy then
That sorrow never has been felt before.


MUSE.
There cannot be a common grief,
Save that of common souls; my friend,
Speak out, and give thy heart relief,
Of this grim secret make an ...

I step across the mystic border-land,
And look upon the wonder-world of Art.
How beautiful, how beautiful its hills!
And all its valleys, how surpassing fair!

The winding paths that lead up to the heights
Are polished by the footsteps of the great.
The mountain-peaks stand very near to God:
The chosen few whose feet have trod thereon
Have talked with Him, and with the angels walked.

Here are no sounds of discord - no profane
Or senseless gossip of unworthy things -
Only the songs of chisels and of pens,
Of busy brushes, and ecstatic strains
Of souls surcharged with music most divine.
Here is no idle sorrow, no poor grief
For any day or object left behind -
For time is counted precious, and herein
Is such complete abandonment of Self
That ...

A thousand songs I might have made
    Of You, and only You;
A thousand thousand tongues of fire
That trembled down a golden wire
    To lamp the night with stars, to braid
The morning bough with dew.

Within the greenwood girl and boy
    Had loiter'd to their lure,
And men in cities closed their books
To dream of Spring and running brooks
And all that ever was of joy
    For manhood to abjure.

And I'd have made them strong, so strong
    Outlasting towers and towns--
Millennial shepherds 'neath the thorn
Had piped them to a world reborn,
And danced Delight the dale along
    And up the daisied downs.

A thousand songs I might have made...
    But you required them not;
Content to reign your little while
Ere, abdicatin...

I


The lights are out, and gone are all the guests
That thronging came with merriment and jests
    To celebrate the Hanging of the Crane
In the new house,--into the night are gone;
But still the fire upon the hearth burns on,
    And I alone remain.

    O fortunate, O happy day,
    When a new household finds its place
    Among the myriad homes of earth,
    Like a new star just sprung to birth,
    And rolled on its harmonious way
    Into the boundless realms of space!

So said the guests in speech and song,
As in the chimney, burning bright,
We hung the iron crane to-night,
And merry was the feast and long.


II

And now I sit and muse on what may be,
And in my vision see, or seem to see,
    Throug...

I looked, and the mist had hidden
    Streamlet and gorge and mountain,
Mansion and church had vanished away,
    No trace of tree or fountain.
Mist, on the roof where birdlings wake
    The strains of old love stories,
Mist, like tears on the roses' cheek,
    In cups of the morning glories.


"Ah, like life, 'said my heart to me,'
    Only a world of sorrow,
The lips you love, the hands you clasp,
    Are cold and strange to-morrow.
Mists on the stream of by-gone days,
    Where are your childhood bowers?
Mists on the path of coming years.
    Where are your household flowers?"

I looked again; a sunbeam bright
    Had shot through the heavy mist;
It drew the rose to its glowing breast,
    And the morning glories kissed.
T...

Darling child, to thee I owe,
More than others here will know;
Thou hast cheered my weary days,
With thy coy and winsome ways.
When my heart has been most sad,
Smile of thine has made me glad;
In return, I wish for thee,
Health and sweet felicity.
May thy future days be blest,
With all things the world deems best.
If perchance the day should come,
Thou does leave thy childhood's home;
Bound by earth's most sacred ties,
With responsibilities,
In another's life to share,
Wedded joys and worldly care;
May thy partner worthy prove, -
Richest in thy constant love.
Strong in faith and honour, just, -
With brave heart on which to trust.
One, to whom when troubles come,
And the days grow burdensome,
Thou canst fly, with confidence
In...

ARGUMENT. i(Baile and Aillinn were lovers, but Aengus, the)
i(Master of Love, wishing them to he happy in his own land)
i(among the dead, told to each a story of the other's death, so)
i(that their hearts were broken and they died.)

I HARDLY i(hear the curlew cry,)

On the heir of Uladh, Buan's son,
Baile, who had the honey mouth;
And that mild woman of the south,
Aillinn, who was King Lugaidh's heir.
Their love was never drowned in care
Of this or that thing, nor grew cold
Because their hodies had grown old.
Being forbid to marry on earth,
They blossomed to immortal mirth.>1
About the time when Christ was born,
When the long wars for the White Horn
And the Brown Bull had not yet come,
Young Baile Honey Mouth, whom some
Called rather Ba...

Lake Winnipesaukee


I. NOON.

White clouds, whose shadows haunt the deep,
Light mists, whose soft embraces keep
The sunshine on the hills asleep!

O isles of calm! O dark, still wood!
And stiller skies that overbrood
Your rest with deeper quietude!

O shapes and hues, dim beckoning, through
Yon mountain gaps, my longing view
Beyond the purple and the blue,

To stiller sea and greener land,
And softer lights and airs more bland,
And skies, the hollow of God’s hand!

Transfused through you, O mountain friends!
With mine your solemn spirit blends,
And life no more hath separate ends.

I read each misty mountain sign,
I know the voice of wave and pine,
And I am yours, and ye are mine.

"Ah! pity all the pangs I feel,
    If pity e'er ye knew;--
An aged father's wounds to heal,
    Thro' scenes of death I flew.

Perhaps my hast'ning steps are vain,
    Perhaps the warrior dies!--
Yet let me sooth each parting pain--
    Yet lead me where he lies."

Thus to the list'ning band she calls,
    Nor fruitless her desire,
They lead her, panting, to the walls
    That hold her captive sire.

"And is a daughter come to bless
    These aged eyes once more?
Thy father's pains will now be less--
    His pains will now be o'er!"

"My father! by this waining lamp
    Thy form I faintly trace:--
Yet sure thy brow is cold, and damp,
    And pale thy honour'd face.

In vain thy wretched child is come,
    She ...

After these vernal rains

That we so warmly sought,
Dear wife, see how our plains

With blessings sweet are fraught!
We cast our distant gaze

Far in the misty blue;
Here gentle love still strays,

Here dwells still rapture true.

Thou seest whither go

Yon pair of pigeons white,
Where swelling violets blow

Round sunny foliage bright.
'Twas there we gather'd first

A nosegay as we roved;
There into flame first burst

The passion that we proved.

Yet when, with plighted troth,

The priest beheld us fare
Home from the altar both,

With many a youthful pair,
Then other moons had birth,

And many a beauteous sun,
Then we had gain'd the earth

Whereon life's ra...

    One summer's morning I heard a lark
    Singing to heaven, a sweet-throated bird;
    One winter's night I was glad in the dark
    Because of the wondrous song I had heard.

    The joy of life, I have heard you say,
    Is my love, my laughter, my smiles and tears;
    When I have gone on the long, strange way,
    Let these stay with you through all the years -

    These be the lark's song. What is love worth
    That cannot crowd, in the time that's given
    To two like us on this gray old earth,
    Such bliss as will last till we reach heaven?

    Dear one, think oft of the full, glad years,
    And, thinking of them, forget to weep.
    Whisper: "Remembrance holds no tears!"
    And kiss my mouth when I fall on sleep.

When I shall meet God's generous dispensers
    Of all the riches in the heavenly store,
Those lesser gods, who act as Recompensers
    For loneliness and loss upon this shore,
Methinks abashed, and somewhat hesitating,
    My soul its wish and longing will declare.
Lest they reply:    'Here are no bounties waiting:
    We gave on earth, your portion and your share.'

Then shall I answer:    'Yea, I do remember
    The many blessings to my life allowed;
My June was always longer than December,
    My sun was always stronger than my cloud,
My joy was ever deeper than my sorrow,
    My gain was ever greater than my loss,
My yesterday seemed less than my to-morrow,
    The crown looked always larger than the cross.

'I have known love, in all its radian...

I love thee, Nature, with a boundless love!
The calm of earth, the storm of roaring woods!
The winds breathe happiness where'er I rove!
There's life's own music in the swelling floods!
My heart is in the thunder-melting clouds,
The snow-cap't mountain, and the rolling sea!
And hear ye not the voice where darkness shrouds
The heavens? There lives happiness for me!

My pulse beats calmer while His lightnings play!
My eye, with earth's delusions waxing dim,
Clears with the brightness of eternal day!
The elements crash round me! It is He!
Calmly I hear His voice and never start.
From Eve's posterity I stand quite free,
Nor feel her curses rankle round my heart.

Love is not here. Hope is, and at His voice--
The rolling thunder and the roaring sea--
...

Dark the halls, and cold the feast,
Gone the bridemaids, gone the priest.
All is over, all is done,
Twain of yesterday are one!
Blooming girl and manhood gray,
Autumn in the arms of May!

Hushed within and hushed without,
Dancing feet and wrestlers' shout;
Dies the bonfire on the hill;
All is dark and all is still,
Save the starlight, save the breeze
Moaning through the graveyard trees,
And the great sea-waves below,
Pulse of the midnight beating slow.

From the brief dream of a bride
She hath wakened, at his side.
With half-uttered shriek and start,
Feels she not his beating heart?
And the pressure of his arm,
And his breathing near and warm?

Lightly from the bridal bed
Springs that fair dishevelled head,
And a fe...

Nourished by peaceful suns and gracious dew,
Your sweet youth budded and your sweet lives grew,
And all the world seemed rose-beset for you.

The rose of beauty was your mutual dower,
The stainless rose of love, an early flower,
The stately blooms of ease and wealth and power.

And treading thus on pathways flower-bestrewn,
It well might be, that, cold and careless grown,
You both had lived for your own joys alone.

But, holding all these fair things as in trust.
Gently you walked, still scattering on the dust
Of harder roads, which others tread, and must,--

Your heritage of brightness, not a ray
Of noontide sought you out, but straight away
You caught and halved it with some darker day:

And as the sweet saint's loaves were turned, it is ...

Though sorrow long has worn my heart;
    Though every day I've, counted o'er
Hath brought a new and, quickening smart
    To wounds that rankled fresh before;

Though in my earliest life bereft
    Of tender links by nature tied;
Though hope deceived, and pleasure left;
    Though friends betrayed and foes belied;

I still had hopes--for hope will stay
    After the sunset of delight;
So like the star which ushers day,
    We scarce can think it heralds night!--

I hoped that, after all its strife,
    My weary heart at length should rest.
And, feinting from the waves of life,
    Find harbor in a brother's breast.

That brother's breast was warm with truth,
    Was bright with honor's purest ray;
He was the dearest, gentlest you...

I

When I remember them, those friends of mine,
    Who are no longer here, the noble three,
    Who half my life were more than friends to me,
    And whose discourse was like a generous wine,
I most of all remember the divine
    Something, that shone in them, and made us see
    The archetypal man, and what might be
    The amplitude of Nature's first design.
In vain I stretch my hands to clasp their hands;
    I cannot find them.    Nothing now is left
    But a majestic memory.    They meanwhile
Wander together in Elysian lands,
    Perchance remembering me, who am bereft
    Of their dear presence, and, remembering, smile.


II

In Attica thy birthplace should have been,
    Or the Ionian Isles, or where the seas
    Encircl...