He had nae been gane a twalmonth and a day, [away. My faither could na work, my mither could na spin, My heart it said nay, and I look'd for Jamie back, My faither urged me sair, my mither did na speak, T1 Departed Dreams. HERE are gains for all our losses, There are balms for all our pain, But when youth, the dream, departs, It takes something from our hearts, And it never comes again. We are stronger and are better Under manhood's sterner reign; Still, we feel that something sweet Followed youth, with flying feet, Something beautiful is vanished, The Skull. R From "Childe Harold." EMOVE yon skull from out the scattered heaps: Is that a temple where a god may dwell! Why even the worm at last disdains her shattered cell! Look on its broken arch, its ruined wall, The dome of Thought, the palace of the Soul: And Passion's host, that never brooked control Can all saint, sage, or sophist ever writ, Yet if, as holiest men have deemed, there be The Bactrian, Samian sage, and all who taught the right. SORROW AND DEATH. The Angel of Patience. [A free paraphrase of the German.] weary hearts, to mourning homes, No power has he to banish pain, There's quiet in that Angel's glance, Nor wounds with words the mourner's ear; Angel of Patience! sent to calm [The name of this poem was suggested to the author by the "Bridge of Sighs," at Venice. This bridge received its name from the fact that it connects the ducal place with the prison, and criminals pass over it to the dismal dungeons where they receive their punishment.] NE more unfortunate Weary of breath, Rashly importunate, Gone to her death! Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care; Fashioned so slenderlyYoung, and so fair! Look at her garments, Clinging like cerements, Whilst the wave constantly Drips from her clothing: Take her up instantly, Loving, not loathing! Touch her not scornfully! Think of her mournfully, Gently and humanlyNot of the stains of her: All that remains of her Now is pure womanly. Make no deep scrutiny, Into her mutiny, Rash and undutiful; Past all dishonor, Death has left on her Only the beautiful. Still, for all slips of hers- Escaped from the combHer fair auburn tressesWhilst wonderment guesses, Where was her home? Who was her father? Who was her mother? Had she a sister? Had she a brother? Yet, than all other? Under the sun! Sisterly, brotherly, Feelings had changed- Where the lamps quiver With many a light From garret to basement, The bleak wind of March Made her tremble and shiver But not the dark arch, Or the black, flowing river; In she plunged boldly- Beyond the Smiling and the Weeping. EYOND the smiling and the weeping BEYON shall be soon; Beyond the waking and the sleeping, Beyond the sowing and the reaping, I shall be soon. Love, rest, and home! Sweet hope! Lord, tarry not, but come. Beyond the blooming and the fading I shall be soon; Beyond the shining and the shading, Beyond the hoping and the dreading, I shall be soon. Love, rest, and home! Beyond the rising and the setting I shall be soon; Τ A Psalm of Life. "ELL me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest ! And the grave is not its goal; Art is long, and Time is fleeting, In the world's broad field of battle, Resignation. HERE is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, The air is full of farewells to the dying, And mournings for the dead; The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, Will not be comforted! |