We fly-still sways and swings around One scanty circle's starry bound. O ye ho, boys! Spread her wings! Fair winds, boys: send her home! O ye ho! Ah, many a month those stars have shone, If but the wind holds, short the run: A FACE IN THE STREET. And many a golden morn has flown, POOR, withered face, that yet was Since that so solemn happy morn, O ye ho, boys! Spread her wings! once so fair, Grown ashen-old in the wild fires of lust Thy star-like beauty, dimmed with earthly dust, Yet breathing of a purer native air; And, though so near we're drawing They who, whilom, cursed vultures, now, 'Tis farther off - I know not how 'Tis but a seeming; swiftly rush Patience, my mates! Though not sought a share Of thy dead womanhood, their greed unjust Have satisfied, have stripped and left thee bare. Still, like a leaf warped by the au tumn gust, And driving to the end, thou wrapp'st in flame And perfume all thy hollow-eyed decay, Feigning on those gray cheeks the blush that Shame Took with her when she fled long since away. Ah God! rain fire upon this foulsouled city That gives such death, and spares its men,- for pity! Pipe the glad birds that in the forest dwell; Where hearths are set curled wreaths of vapor tell; Life's grace and proinise win the soul again; Hope floods the heart like sunshine after rain. The wood is past, and tranquil meadows wide, Bathed in bright vapor, stretch on every side. A MARCH VIOLET. BLACK boughs against a pale clear sky, [From Scenes in the Wood. Suggested by Slight mists of cloud-wreaths floating Robert Schumann.] NIGHT. WHITE stars begin to prick the wan blue sky, The trees arise, thick, black and Their slim, dark boles, gray, film- seen. The footpaths dumb with moss have lost their green. by: Soft sunlight, gray-blue smoky air, Quick seedlings stir, rich juices flow Mysterious shadows settle every-On where, seen budding boughs a warm flush glows, A passionate murmur trembles in the With tints of purple and pale rose. Sweet scents wax richer, freshened To kiss the cool brow. Let us rest with cool dews, The whole vast forest seems to breathe, to sigh With rustle, hum and whisper that confuse The listening ear, blent with the fitful cry Of some belated bird. In the far sky, Throbbing with stars, there stirs a weird unrest, Strange joy, akin to pain, fulfils the breast A longing born of fears and promises, A wild desire, a hope that heeds no bound. A ray of moonlight struggling through the trees Startles us like a phantom; on the ground Fall curious shades; white glory spreads around; The late, close blades still waved around; I clutched a handful from the ground. I lay dumb, sightless, deaf as she; She offered me: I could have laughed I rose and left. I knew each limb What blooms here, Through tears I see the nodding head, The purple and the green dispread. Here, where I nursed despair that morn, The premise of fresh joy is born, care. Longings and golden dreams to bring With joyous phantasies of spring. REMEMBER. REMEMBER Him, the only One, Nor with the stars the night. cause She is so wondrous fair Because mid grass they wave, But just because they shine, And not because they're nearer one Who never can be thine. Now, while thou lovest music's strains, Because they cheer thy heart, And not because from aching eyes They make the tear-drops start. Now, whilst thou lovest all on earth And deemest all will last, Before the days draw nigh When thou shalt have no joy in them, And praying, yearn to die. CHARLES GODFREY LELAND. MINE OWN. AND oh, the longing, burning eyes! O'er chamber, hall, and stair! And oh, the step, half-dreamt, half heard! And oh, the laughter low! Oh, art thou Sylph,- or truly Self,- "Oh, some do call me Laughter, love; So I thy love may win." "And some do call me Wantonness, And some do call me Play:" |