Lord Rameses of Egypt sighed
Because a summer evening passed;
And little Ariadne cried
That summer fancy fell at last
To dust; and young Verona died
When beauty's hour was overcast.

Theirs was the bitterness we know
Because the clouds of hawthorn keep
So short a state, and kisses go
To tombs unfathomably deep,
While Rameses and Romeo
And little Ariadne sleep.

Now is past--the happy now
When we together roved
Beneath the wildwood's oak-tree bough
And Nature said we loved.
Winter's blast
The now since then has crept between,
And left us both apart.
Winters that withered all the green
Have froze the beating heart.
Now is past.

Now is past since last we met
Beneath the hazel bough;
Before the evening sun was set
Her shadow stretched below.
Autumn's blast
Has stained and blighted every bough;
Wild strawberries like her lips
Have left the mosses green below,
Her bloom's upon the hips.
Now is past.

Now is past, is changed agen,
The woods and fields are painted new.
Wild strawberries which both gathered then,
None know now where they grew.
The skys oercast.
Wood stra...

(Noel.)


By the sad fellowship of human suffering,
    By the bereavements that are thine and mine,
I venture--oh, forgive me!--with this offering,
    I would it were to thee God's oil and wine

I too have suffered--is it then surprising
    If to thy sacred grief I enter in?
My spirit draws near thine all sympathising,
    Sorrow, like love, "makes aliens near of kin."

Thou'rt weeping for thy gathered blossoms, mother,
    The Lord had need of him, and called him soon,
In morning freshness ere the dews of heaven
    Were chased before the burning rays of noon.

Thy darling child, like to God's summer blossom,
    Was very fair and pleasant to the sight,
The sunny head that rested on thy bosom,
    The loving eyes that were thy hear...

I cannot look upon thy grave,
    Though there the rose is sweet:
Better to hear the long wave wash
    These wastes about my feet!

Shall I take comfort? Dost thou live
    A spirit, though afar,
With a deep hush about thee, like
    The stillness round a star?

Oh, thou art cold! In that high sphere
    Thou art a thing apart,
Losing in saner happiness
    This madness of the heart.

And yet, at times, thou still shalt feel
    A passing breath, a pain;
Disturb'd, as though a door in heaven
    Had oped and closed again.

And thou shalt shiver, while the hymns,
    The solemn hymns, shall cease;
A moment half remember me:
    Then turn away to peace.

But oh, for evermore thy look,
    Thy laugh, thy charm, t...

1.

Parent of golden dreams, Romance!
Auspicious Queen of childish joys,
Who lead'st along, in airy dance,
Thy votive train of girls and boys;
At length, in spells no longer bound,
I break the fetters of my youth;
No more I tread thy mystic round,
But leave thy realms for those of Truth.


2.

And yet 'tis hard to quit the dreams
Which haunt the unsuspicious soul,
Where every nymph a goddess seems,
Whose eyes through rays immortal roll;
While Fancy holds her boundless reign,
And all assume a varied hue;
When Virgins seem no longer vain,
And even Woman's smiles are true.


3.

And must we own thee, but a name,
And from thy hall of clouds descend?
Nor find a Sylph in every dame,
A Pylades [1]<...

1.
Maiden, quench the glare of sorrow
Struggling in thine haggard eye:
Firmness dare to borrow
From the wreck of destiny;
For the ray morn's bloom revealing
Can never boast so bright an hue
As that which mocks concealing,
And sheds its loveliest light on you.

2.
Yet is the tie departed
Which bound thy lovely soul to bliss?
Has it left thee broken-hearted
In a world so cold as this?
Yet, though, fainting fair one,
Sorrow's self thy cup has given,
Dream thou'lt meet thy dear one,
Never more to part, in Heaven.

3.
Existence would I barter
For a dream so dear as thine,
And smile to die a martyr
On affection's bloodless shrine.
Nor would I change for pleasure
That withered hand and ashy cheek,
If my heart ens...

(WALTER AND FREDDIE.)


From morn to eve, from evening unto morning,
    I mourn and cannot rest;
So mourns the mother bird when home returning
    She finds an empty nest.

I mourn the little children of my dwelling,
    That are forever gone,
Sorrows that mothers feel my heart is swelling,
    And so I make my moan.

One little blossom on my bosom faded,
    And passed from me away,
But near my door the drooping willows shaded
    My little boys at play

My boys that came with flying feet to meet me,
    And questions wondrous wise,
And bits of news which they had brought to greet me,
    And see my glad surprise

Bitter for sweet no human hand can alter
    Nor bid one sorrow pass,
With sudden stroke our darling ...

There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.

Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie,
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear.

When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet's unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find, it's your own affair,
But . . . you've given your heart to a dog to tear.

When the body that lived at your sin...

A clamour by day and a whisper by night,
And the Summer comes with the shining noons,
With the ripple of leaves, and the passionate light
Of the falling suns and the rising moons.

And the ripple of leaves and the purple and red
Die for the grapes and the gleam of the wheat,
And then you may pause with the splendours, or tread
On the yellow of Autumn with lingering feet.

You may halt with the face to a flying sea,
Or stand like a gloom in the gloom of things,
When the moon drops down and the desolate lea
Is troubled with thunder and desolate wings.

But alas for the grey of the wintering eves,
And the pondering storms and the ruin of rains;
And alas for the Spring like a flame in the leaves,
And the green of the woods and the gold of the lanes!

The moments passed as at a play;
I had the wisdom love brings forth;
I had my share of mother-wit,
And yet for all that I could say,
And though I had her praise for it,
A cloud blown from the cut-throat North
Suddenly hid Love's moon away.
Believing every word I said,
I praised her body and her mind
Till pride had made her eyes grow bright,
And pleasure made her cheeks grow red,
And vanity her footfall light,
Yet we, for all that praise, could find
Nothing but darkness overhead.
We sat as silent as a stone,
We knew, though she'd not said a word,
That even the best of love must die,
And had been savagely undone
Were it not that Love upon the cry
Of a most ridiculous little bird
Tore from the clouds his marvellous moon.
Although crowds g...

(Mary Maud.)


O friends, I cannot comfort, but will share with you your grieving,
    In the valley of the shadow where you sit in helpless tears;
Greater is the parting anguish, than the joy of first receiving
    The sweet gift that was your treasure through five happy, golden years

When I laid within your arms the dear babe that God had given,
    There was hidden in the future all the tears that you must weep,
Ah! the little ones so tangled in our heart-strings, they are riven
    In the parting, are but treasures lent not given us to keep

There's silence in the places her voice filled with happy laughter,
    Stillness waiting for the echo of the patter of her feet,
You are gazing on her picture, and your heart is longing after
    The tender touch of ...

The mountain brook sung lonesomelike
And loitered on its way
Ez if it waited for a child
To jine it in its play;
The wild flowers of the hillside
Bent down their heads to hear
The music of the little feet
That had, somehow, grown so dear;
The magpies, like winged shadders,
Wuz a-flutterin' to and fro
Among the rocks and holler stumps
In the ragged gulch below;
The pines 'nd hemlock tosst their boughs
(Like they wuz arms) 'nd made
Soft, sollum music on the slope
Where he had often played.
But for these lonesome, sollum voices
On the mountain side,
There wuz no sound the summer day
That Marthy's younkit died.

We called him Marthy's younkit,
For Marthy wuz the name
Uv her ez wuz his mar, the wife
Uv Sorry Tom--the same

I stood on the bridge at midnight,
    As the clocks were striking the hour,
And the moon rose o'er the city,
    Behind the dark church-tower.

I saw her bright reflection
    In the waters under me,
Like a golden goblet falling
    And sinking into the sea.

And far in the hazy distance
    Of that lovely night in June,
The blaze of the flaming furnace
    Gleamed redder than the moon.

Among the long, black rafters
    The wavering shadows lay,
And the current that came from the ocean
    Seemed to lift and bear them away;

As, sweeping and eddying through them,
Rose the belated tide,
And, streaming into the moonlight,
    The seaweed floated wide.

And like those waters rushing
    Among the wooden piers,

As the kindling glances,
Queen-like and clear,
Which the bright moon lances
From her tranquil sphere
At the sleepless waters
Of a lonely mere,
On the wild whirling waves, mournfully, mournfully,
Shiver and die.

As the tears of sorrow
Mothers have shed
Prayers that tomorrow
Shall in vain be sped
When the flower they flow for
Lies frozen and dead
Fall on the throbbing brow, fall on the burning breast,
Bringing no rest.

Like bright waves that fall
With a lifelike motion
On the lifeless margin of the sparkling Ocean;
A wild rose climbing up a mouldering wall
A gush of sunbeams through a ruined hall
Strains of glad music at a funeral
So sad, and with so wild a start
To this deep-sobered heart,
So anxiously and pai...

Come, weep no more, for 'tis in vain;
Torment not thus your pretty heart;
Think, Flavia, we may meet again,
As well as that we now must part.

You sigh and weep; the gods neglect
That precious dew your eyes let fall;
Our joy and grief with like respect
They mind, and that is not at all.

We pray, in hopes they will be kind,
As if they did regard our state;
They hear, and the return we find
Is, that no prayers can alter Fate.

Then clear your brow, and look more gay;
Do not yourself to grief resign;
Who knows but that those powers may
The pair they now have parted join?

But since they have thus cruel been,
And could such constant lovers sever,
I dare not trust, lest, now they're in,
They should divide us two for ever.

Leaves fall and flowers fade,
Days come and go:
Now is sweet Summer laid
Low in her leafy glade,
Low like a fragrant maid,
Low, low, ah, low.

Tears fall and eyelids ache,
Hearts overflow:
Here for our dead love's sake
Let us our farewells make
Will he again awake?
Ah, no, no, no.

Winds sigh and skies are gray,
Days come and go:
Wild birds are flown away:
Where are the blooms of May?
Dead, dead, this many a day,
Under the snow.

Lips sigh and cheeks are pale,
Hearts overflow:
Will not some song or tale,
Kiss, or a flower frail,
With our dead love avail?
Ah, no, no, no.

    "The valiant, in himself, what can he suffer?
    Or what does he regard his single woes?
    But when, alas! he multiplies himself,
    To dearer selves, to the lov'd tender fair,
    The those whose bliss, whose beings hang upon him,
    To helpless children! then, O then! he feels
    The point of misery fest'ring in his heart,
    And weakly weeps his fortune like a coward.
    Such, such am I! undone."

Thomson.


I.

    Farewell, old Scotia's bleak domains,
    Far dearer than the torrid plains
        Where rich ananas blow!
    Farewell, a mother's blessing dear!
    A brother's sigh! a sister's tear!
        My Jean's heart-rending throe!
    Farewell, my Bess! tho' thou'rt bereft
        Of my parental care,
  ...

How oft have I seen her upon the sea-shore,
While tearful, her face, she would hide,
In sad silence the loss of the Sailor deplore
Who from infancy call'd her his bride,

The Sailor she lov'd was a Fisherman's son,
All dangers he triumph'd to meet;
Well repaid, if a smile from his Mary he won,
As he proffer'd his spoils at her feet.

But soon from her smiles was he summon'd away,
His fortunes at sea to pursue:
And grav'd on their hearts was the sorrowful day
That witness'd their final adieu.

They spoke not, ah, no; for they felt their hearts speak
A language their tongues could not tell;
As he kiss'd off the tears that fell fast on her cheek,
As she sigh'd on his bosom, farewel.

Full oft, the sad season of absence to charm,
To the ro...