I lay dumb, sightless, deaf as she; I drained the galled dregs of the draught 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 REMEMBER. REMEMBER Him, the only One, Nor with the stars the night. cause She is so wondrous fair And not because her bosom holds But just because they shine, 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:" "Oh, they might call thee what they would If thou wert mine alway!" "And some do call me Sorrow, love, And some that name me Fears. "And some do call me Gentle Heart. And some Forgetfulness:" "And if thou com'st as one or all, Thou comest but to bless!" "And some do call me Life, sweetheart, And some do call me Death; And he to whom the two are one Has won my heart and faith.' She twined her white arms round his neck: The tears fell down like rain. "And if I live or if I die, We'll never part again." HAIL, beauteous stranger of the grove! Thou messenger of spring! Now heaven repairs thy rural seat, And woods thy welcome sing. Soon as the daisy decks the green, Thy certain voice we hear. Hast thou a star to guide thy path, Or mark the rolling year? Delightful visitant! with thee I hail the time of flowers, And hear the sound of music sweet From birds among the bowers. 341 The schoolboy, wandering through the wood To pull the primrose gay, What time the pea puts on the bloom, Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green, Oh, could I fly, I'd fly with thee! HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. THE LADDER of st. augUSTINE. | All thoughts of ill: all evil deeds, SAINT AUGUSTINE! well hast thou said, That of our vices we can frame A ladder, if we will but tread That have their root in thoughts of ill: Whatever hinders or impedes The action of the nobler will; Beneath our feet each deed of All these must first be trampled shame! All common things, each day's events, That with the hour begin and end, Our pleasures and our discontents, Are rounds by which we may ascend. The low desire, the base design, And all occasions of excess: The longing for ignoble things: The strife for triumph more than truth; The hardening of the heart, that brings Irreverence for the dreams of youth; down Beneath our feet, if we would gain In the bright fields of fair renown The right of eminent domain. We have not wings, we cannot soar; But we have feet to scale and climb By slow degrees, by more and more, The cloudy summits of our time. The mighty pyramids of stone That wedge-like cleave the desert airs, When nearer seen, and better known, Are but gigantic flights of stairs. The distant mountains, that uprear Their solid bastions to the skies, Are crossed by pathways, that appear As we to higher levels rise. |