There is a house beside a way,
Where dwells a ghost of Yesterday:
The old face of a beauty, faded,
Looks from its garden: and the shaded
Long walks of locust-trees, that seem
Forevermore to sigh and dream,
Keep whispering low a word that's true,
Of shapes that haunt its avenue,
Clad as in days of belle and beau,
Who come and go
Around its ancient portico.
At first, in stock and beaver-hat,
With flitting of the moth and bat,
An old man, leaning on a cane,
Comes slowly down the locust lane;
Looks at the house; then, groping, goes
Into the garden where the rose
Still keeps sweet tryst with moth and moon;
And, humming to himself a tune,
"Lorena" or"Ben Bolt" we'll say,
Waits, bent and gray,
For some fair ghost of Yesterday.
The Yester...

My native isle! my native isle!
For ever round thy sunny steep
The low waves curl, with sparkling foam,
And solemn murmurs deep;
While o'er the surging waters blue
The ceaseless breezes throng,
And in the grand old woods awake
An everlasting song.

The sordid strife and petty cares
That crowd the city's street,
The rush, the race, the storm of Life,
Upon thee never meet;
But quiet and contented hearts
Their daily tasks fulfil,
And meet with simple hope and trust
The coming good or ill.

The spireless church stands, plain and brown,
The winding road beside;
The green graves rise in silence near,
With moss-grown tablets wide;
And early on the Sabbath morn,
Along the flowery sod,
Unfettered souls, with humble prayer,
G...

1.
I dreamed that, as I wandered by the way,
Bare Winter suddenly was changed to Spring,
And gentle odours led my steps astray,
Mixed with a sound of waters murmuring
Along a shelving bank of turf, which lay
Under a copse, and hardly dared to fling
Its green arms round the bosom of the stream,
But kissed it and then fled, as thou mightest in dream.

2.
There grew pied wind-flowers and violets,
Daisies, those pearled Arcturi of the earth,
The constellated flower that never sets;
Faint oxslips; tender bluebells, at whose birth
The sod scarce heaved; and that tall flower that wets -
Like a child, half in tenderness and mirth -
Its mother's face with Heaven's collected tears,
When the low wind, its playmate's voice, it hears.

3.
And in th...

"Come, tell me," says Rosa, as kissing and kist,
    One day she reclined on my breast;
"Come, tell me the number, repeat me the list
    "Of the nymphs you have loved and carest."--
Oh Rosa! 'twas only my fancy that roved,
    My heart at the moment was free;
But I'll tell thee, my girl, how many I've loved,
    And the number shall finish with thee.

My tutor was Kitty; in infancy wild
    She taught me the way to be blest;
She taught me to love her, I loved like a child,
    But Kitty could fancy the rest.
This lesson of dear and enrapturing lore
    I have never forgot, I allow:
I have had it by rote very often before,
    But never by heart until now.

Pretty Martha was next, and my soul was all flame,
    But my head was so f...

(JUNE 13, 1899.)


    So still you sleep upon your bed,
    So motionless and slender,
    It cannot be that you are dead,
    My maiden gay and tender!

    You were no creature pale and meek
    That death should hasten after,
    The dimples played within your cheek,
    Your lips were made for laughter.

    To you the great world was a place
    That care might never stay in,
    A playground built by God's good grace
    For glad young folks to play in.

    You made your footpath by life's flowers,
    O happy, care-free maiden!
    The sky was full of shine and showers,
    The wind was perfume laden.

    Your dimpled hands are folded now
    Upon your snowy bosom,
    The dark hair nestles on your brow -<...

Come, spread your wings, as I spread mine,
And leave the crowded hall
For where the eyes of twilight shine
O'er evening's western wall.

These are the pleasant Berkshire hills,
Each with its leafy crown;
Hark! from their sides a thousand rills
Come singing sweetly down.

A thousand rills; they leap and shine,
Strained through the shadowy nooks,
Till, clasped in many a gathering twine,
They swell a hundred brooks.

A hundred brooks, and still they run
With ripple, shade, and gleam,
Till, clustering all their braids in one,
They flow a single stream.

A bracelet spun from mountain mist,
A silvery sash unwound,
With ox-bow curve and sinuous twist
It writhes to reach the Sound.

This is my bark, - a pygmy's ship;
B...

I have heard that hysterical women say
They are sick of the palette and fiddle-bow.
Of poets that are always gay,
For everybody knows or else should know
That if nothing drastic is done
Aeroplane and Zeppelin will come out.
Pitch like King Billy bomb-balls in
Until the town lie beaten flat.

All perform their tragic play,
There struts Hamlet, there is Lear,
That's Ophelia, that Cordelia;
Yet they, should the last scene be there,
The great stage curtain about to drop,
If worthy their prominent part in the play,
Do not break up their lines to weep.
They know that Hamlet and Lear are gay;
Gaiety transfiguring all that dread.
All men have aimed at, found and lost;
Black out; Heaven blazing into the head:
Tragedy wrought to its uttermost.
T...

FELICIA HEMANS.



Leaves have their time to fall,
And flowers to wither at the North-wind's breath,
And stars to set: but all,
Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!

Day is for mortal care,
Eve for glad meetings at the joyous hearth,
Night for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer,
But all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth!

The banquet has its hour,
The feverish hour of mirth and song and wine:
There comes a day for grief's overwhelming shower,
A time for softer tears: but all are thine.

Youth and the opening rose
May look like things too glorious for decay,
And smile at thee! - but thou art not of those
That wait the ripen'd bloom to seize their prey!



"FRONDES EST UBI DECIDANT."

You are my God, and I would fain adore You
    With sweet and secret rites of other days.
Burn scented oil in silver lamps before You,
    Pour perfume on Your feet with prayer and praise.

Yet are we one; Your gracious condescension
    Granted, and grants, the loveliness I crave.
One, in the perfect sense of Eastern mention,
    "Gold and the Bracelet, Water and the Wave."

NEAR Rome, of yore, close to the Florence road,
Was seen a humble innkeeper's abode;
Small sums were charged; few guests the night would stay;
And these could seldom much afford to pay.
A pleasing active partner had the host
Her age not much 'bove thirty at the most;
Two children she her loving husband bore;
The boy was one year old: the daughter more;
Just fifteen summers o'er her form had smiled;
In person charming, and in temper mild.

IT happened that Pinucio, young and gay,
A youth of family, oft passed the way,
Admired the girl, and thought she might be gained,
Attentions showed, and like return obtained;
The mistress was not deaf, nor lover mute;
Pinucio seemed the lady's taste to suit,
Of pleasing person and engaging air;
And 'mong the equals...

I.

As a shadow He flew, but sorrow and wail
Came up from his path, like the moan of the gale.
His quiver was full, though his arrows fell fast
As the sharp hail of winter when urged by the blast.
He smiled on each shaft as it flew from the string,
Though feathered by fate, and the lightning its wing.
Unerring, unsparing, it sped to its mark,
As the mandate of destiny, certain and dark.
The mail of the warrior it severed in twain,
The wall of the castle it shivered amain:
No shield could shelter, no prayer could save,
And Love's holy shrine no immunity gave.
A babe in the cradle its mother bent o'er,
The arrow is sped, and that babe is no more!
At the faith-plighting altar, a lovely one bows,
The gem on her finger, in Heaven her vows;
Unseen is the b...

Oh, for some cup of consummating might,
Filled with life's kind conclusion, lost in night!
A wine of darkness, that with death shall cure
This sickness called existence! Oh to find
Surcease of sorrow! quiet for the mind,
An end of thought in something dark and sure!
Mandrake and hellebore, or poison pure!
Some drug of death, wherein there are no dreams!
No more, no more, with patience, to endure
The wrongs of life, the hate of men, it seems;
Or wealth's authority, tyranny of time,
And lamentations and the boasts of man!
To hear no more the wild complaints of toil,
And struggling merit, that, unknown, must starve:
To see no more life's disregard for Art!
Oh God! to know no longer anything!
Nor good, nor evil, or what either means!
Nor hear the changing tid...

First came the red-eyed sun as I did wake;
He smote me on the temples and I rose,
Casting the night aside and all its woes;
And I would spurn my idleness, and take
My own wild journey even like him, and shake
The pillars of all doubt with lusty blows,
Even like himself when his rich glory goes
Right through the stalwart fogs that part and break.
But ere my soul was ready for the fight,
His solemn setting mocked me in the west;
And as I trembled in the lifting night,
The white moon met me, and my heart confess'd
A mellow wisdom in her silent youth,
Which fed my hope with fear, and made my strength a truth.

AS a butterfly renew'd,

When in life I breath'd my last,

To the spots my flight I wing,

Scenes of heav'nly rapture past,

Over meadows, to the spring,
Round the hill, and through the wood.

Soon a tender pair I spy,

And I look down from my seat

On the beauteous maiden's head

When embodied there I meet

All I lost as soon as dead,
Happy as before am I.

Him she clasps with silent smile,

And his mouth the hour improves,

Sent by kindly Deities;

First from breast to mouth it roves,

Then from mouth to hands it flies,
And I round him sport the while.

And she sees me hov'ring near;

Trembling at her lovers rapture,

Up she springs I fly away,

Home, thou return’st from Thames, whose naiads long
Have seen thee ling’ring with a fond delay
’Mid those soft friends, whose hearts, some future day,
Shall melt, perhaps, to hear thy tragic song.
Go, not unmindful of that cordial youth
Whom, long endear’d, thou leav’st by Lavant’s side;
Together let us wish him lasting truth,
And joy untainted, with his destin’d bride.
Go! nor regardless, while these numbers boast
My short-liv’d bliss, forget my social name;
But think far off how, on the southern coast,
I met thy friendship with an equal flame!
Fresh to that soil thou turn’st, whose ev’ry vale
Shall prompt the poet, and his song demand:
To thee thy copious subjects ne’er shall fail;
Thou need’st but take the pencil to thy hand,
And paint what all believe who ...

Song brings us light with the power of lending
Glory to brighten the work that we find;
Song brings us warmth with the power of rending
Rigor and frost in the swift-melting mind.
Song is eternal with power of blending
Time that is gone and to come in the soul,
Fills it with yearnings that flow without ending,
Seeking that sea where the light-surges roll.

Song brings us union, while gently beguiling
Discord and doubt on its radiant way;
Song brings us union and leads, reconciling
Battle-glad passions by harmony's sway,
Unto the beautiful, valiant, and holy
- Some can pass over its long bridge of light
Higher and higher to visions that solely
Faith can reveal to the spirit's pure sight.

Songs from the past of the past's longings telling,
Pensive...

Hear me, O God!
A broken heart
Is my best part.
Use still thy rod,
That I may prove
Therein thy Love.

If thou hadst not
Been stern to me,
But left me free,
I had forgot
Myself and thee.

For sin's so sweet,
As minds ill-bent
Rarely repent,
Until they meet
Their punishment.

Who more can crave
Than thou hast done?
That gav'st a Son,
To free a slave,
First made of nought;
With all since bought.

Sin, Death, and Hell
His glorious name
Quite overcame,
Yet I rebel
And slight the same.

But I'll come in
Before my loss
Me farther toss,
As sure to win
Under His cross.

He gloomily sat by the wall,
As gaily she danced with them all.
Her laughter's light spell
On every one fell;
His heartstrings were near unto rending,
But this there was none comprehending.

She fled from the house, when at eve
He came there to take his last leave.
To hide her she crept,
She wept and she wept;
Her life-hope was shattered past mending,
But this there was none comprehending.

Long years dragged but heavily o'er,
And then he came back there once more.
    - Her lot was the best,
    In peace and at rest;
Her thought was of him at life's ending,
But this there was none comprehending.