As year by year the labourer tills

His wonted glebe, or lops the glades; And year by year our memory fades From all the circle of the hills.

OH, THAT 'TWERE POSSIBLE

Oh, that 'twere possible,

After long grief and pain,

To find the arms of my true love
Round me once again!

When I was wont to meet her
In the silent woody places

By the home that gave me birth,
We stood 'tranced in long embraces
Mixt with kisses, sweeter, sweeter
Than anything on earth.

A shadow flits before me,
Not thou, but like to thee;

Ah Christ, that it were possible

For one short hour to see

The souls we loved, that they might tell us

What and where they be!

It leads me forth at evening,

It lightly winds and steals

In a cold white robe before me,

When all my spirit reels

At the shouts, the leagues of lights,

And the roaring of the wheels.

Half the night I waste in sighs,
Half in dreams I sorrow after
The delight of early skies ;
In a wakeful doze I sorrow
For the hand, the lips, the eyes--
For the meeting of the morrow,
The delight of happy laughter,
The delight of low replies.

'Tis a morning pure and sweet,
And a dewy splendour falls
On the little flower that clings
To the turrets and the walls;
'Tis a morning pure and sweet,
And the light and shadow fleet;
She is walking in the meadow
And the woodland echo rings
In a moment we shall meet ;
She is singing in the meadow,
And the rivulet at her feet
Ripples on in light and shadow
To the ballad that she sings.

Do I hear her sing as of old,

My bird with the shining head,

My own dove with the tender eye?

But there rings on a sudden a passionate

cry

There is some one dying or dead;

And a sullen thunder is rolled;

For a tumult shakes the city,
And I wake-my dream is fled;

In the shuddering dawn, behold,
Without knowledge, without pity,
By the curtains of my bed
That abiding phantom cold!

Get thee hence, nor come again :
Mix not memory with doubt,
Pass, thou deathlike type of pain,
Pass and cease to move about!
'Tis the blot upon the brain
That will show itself without.
Then I rise; the eave-drops fall,
And the yellow vapours choke
The great city sounding wide;
The day comes-a dull red ball
Wrapt in drifts of lurid smoke
On the misty river-tide.

Through the hubbub of the market

I steal, a wasted frame;

It crosses here, it crosses there,

Through all that crowd confused and loud

The shadow still the same;

And on my heavy eyelids

My anguish hangs like shame.

Alas! for her that met me,
That heard me softly call,

Came glimmering through the laurels

At the quiet evenfall,

In the garden by the turrets

Of the old manorial hall!

Would the happy spirit descend
From the realms of light and song,
In the chamber or the street,
As she looks among the blest,
Should I fear to greet my friend,
Or to say, "Forgive the wrong,"
Or to ask her, "Take me, sweet,
To the regions of thy rest?"

But the broad light glares and beats,
And the shadow flits and fleets,
And will not let me be ;

And I loathe the squares and streets,
And the faces that one meets,

Hearts with no love for me;

Always I long to creep

Into some still cavern deep,

There to weep, and weep, and weep
My whole soul out to thee.

LADY DUFFERIN.

1807-1867

TO MY DEAR SON

On his 21st Birthday, with a Silver Lamp, 66 'Fiat Lux."

How shall I bless thee? Human love
Is all too poor in passionate words;
The heart aches with a sense above
All language that the lip affords :
Therefore a symbol shall express

My love, a thing not rare or strange,

But yet-eternal-measureless

Knowing no shadow and no change.
Light! which of all the lovely shows
To our poor world of shadows given,
The fervent Prophet-voices chose
Alone, as attribute of heaven!

At a most solemn pause we stand,
From this day forth, for evermore,
The weak but loving human hand

Must cease to guide thee as of yore.
Then, as thro' life thy footsteps stray,
And earthly beacons dimly shine,
“Let there be light

upon thy way,

And holier guidance far than mine! "Let there be light" in thy clear soul, When passion tempts and doubts assail When grief's dark tempests o'er thee role, "Let there be light that shall not fail!

So, Angel-guarded, may'st thou tread The narrow path which few may find, And at the end look back, nor dread

;

To count the vanished years behind! And pray that she, whose hand doth trace This heart-warm prayer,—when life is past

May see and know thy blessed face,

In God's own glorious light at last!