The columns of the heavenly palaces!
And, in the sweeping of the wind, your ear
The passage of the Angels' wings will hear,
And on the lichen-crusted leads above
The rustle of the eternal rain of love.

A MODERN SAPPHO

THEY are gone-all is still! Foolish heart, dost thou quiver? Nothing stirs on the lawn but the quick lilac-shade.

Far up shines the house, and beneath flows the river—

Here lean, my head, on this cold balustrade!

Ere he come-ere the boat by the shining-branch'd border
Of dark elms shoot round, dropping down the proud stream,
Let me pause, let me strive, in myself make some order,

Ere their boat-music sound, ere their broider'd flags gleam.

Last night we stood earnestly talking together;

She enter❜d-that moment his eyes turn'd from me! Fasten'd on her dark hair, and her wreath of white heather— As yesterday was, so to-morrow will be.

Their love, let me know, must grow strong and yet stronger, Their passion burn more, ere it ceases to burn.

They must love-while they must! but the hearts that love longer

Are rare-ah! most loves but flow once, and return.

I shall suffer—but they will outlive their affection,

I shall weep-but their love will be cooling; and he,

As he drifts to fatigue, discontent, and dejection,

Will be brought, thou poor heart, how much nearer to thee!

For cold is his eye to mere beauty, who, breaking

The strong band which passion around him hath furl'd, Disenchanted by habit, and newly awaking,

Looks languidly round on a gloom-buried world.

Through that gloom he will see but a shadow appearing,
Perceive but a voice as I come to his side-

But deeper their voice grows, and nobler their bearing,
Whose youth in the fires of anguish hath died.

So, to wait!

driving?

-But what notes down the wind, hark! are

'Tis he! 'tis their flag, shooting round by the trees! -Let my turn, if it will come, be swift in arriving! Ah! hope cannot long lighten torments like these.

Hast thou yet dealt him, O life, thy full measure?
World, have thy children yet bow'd at his knee?
Hast thou with myrtle-leaf crown'd him, O pleasure?
-Crown, crown him quickly, and leave him for me!

Her mirth the world required;

She bathed it in smiles of glee.
But her heart was tired, tired,

And now they let her be.

Her life was turning, turning,

In mazes of heat and sound.
But for peace her soul was yearning,
And now peace laps her round.

Her cabin'd, ample spirit,

It flutter'd and fail'd for breath.

Tonight it doth inherit

The vasty hall of death.

YOUTH AND CALM

'Tis death! and peace, indeed, is here,
And ease from shame, and rest from fear
There's nothing can dismarble now
The smoothness of that limpid brow.
But is a calm like this, in truth,

The crowning end of life and youth,
And when this boon rewards the dead,
Are all debts paid, has all been said?
And is the heart of youth so light,
Its step so firm, its eyes so bright,
Because on its hot brow there blows
A wind of promise and repose
From the far grave, to which it goes;
Because it hath the hope to come,
One day, to harbour in the tomb?
Ah no, the bliss youth dreams is one
For daylight, for the cheerful sun,
For feeling nerves and living breath—
Youth dreams a bliss on this side death.

It dreams a rest, if not more deep,

More grateful than this marble sleep;
It hears a voice within it tell :

Calm's not life's crown, though calm is well.
'Tis all perhaps which man acquires,
But 'tis not what our youth desires.

V

A MEMORY-PICTURE

LAUGH, my friends, and without blame
Lightly quit what lightly came;

Rich to-morrow as to-day,
Spend as madly as you may!.
I, with little land to stir,
Am the exacter labourer.

Ere the parting hour go by,
Quick, thy tablets, Memory!

Once I said: "A face is gone
If too hotly mused upon; ;
And our best impressions are
Those that do themselves repair."
Many a face I so let flee, the
Ah! is faded utterly.

Ere the parting hour go by,
Quick, thy tablets, Memory!

jet

Marguerite says: "As last year went,
So the coming year 'll be spent ;
Some day next year, I shall be,
Entering heedless, kiss'd by thee."
Ah, I hope!—yet, once away,
may chain us, who can say ?

What

Ere the parting hour go by,
Quick, thy tablets, Memory!

Paint that lilac kerchief, bound
Her soft face, her hair around; '
Tied under the archest chin
Mockery ever ambush'd in.

Let the fluttering fringes streak
All her pale, sweet-rounded cheek.
Ere the parting hour go by,
Quick, thy tablets, Memory!

Paint that figure's pliant grace
As she tow'rd me lean'd her face,
Half refused and half resign'd,
Murmuring: "Art thou still unkind?"

Many a broken promise then
Was new made—to break again.
Ere the parting hour go by,
Quick, thy tablets, Memory!

Paint those eyes, so blue, so kind,
Eager tell-tales of her mind; ;
Paint, with their impetuous stress
Of inquiring tenderness,

Those frank eyes, where deep I see
An angelic gravity.

Ere the parting hour go by,
Quick, thy tablets, Memory!

What, my friends, these feeble lines
Show, you say, my love declines ?
To paint ill as I have done,
Proves forgetfulness begun?