Week in, week out, from morn till night, You can hear his bellows blow; You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, With measured beat and slow, Like a sexton ringing the village bell, When the evening sun is low. And children coming home from school Look in at the open door; They love to see the flaming forge, And hear the bellows roar, And catch the burning sparks that fly Like chaff from a threshing-floor. He goes on Sunday to the church, And sits among his boys; He hears the parson pray and preach, He hears his daughter's voice, Singing in the village choir, And makes his heart rejoice. It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies; When, sleeping in the grove, He dreamed not of her love. Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought, Love gives itself, but is not bought; Nor voice, nor sound betrays Its deep, impassioned gaze. It comes, the beautiful, the free, The crown of all humanity,— In silence and alone To seek the elected one. It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep Are Life's oblivion, the soul's sleep, No one is so accursed by fate, But some heart, though unknown, Responds,- —as if, with unseen wings, And with his hard, rough hand he An angel touched its quivering strings; wipes A tear out of his eyes. Toiling, rejoicing,-sorrowing, Each morning sees some task begun, Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught ! Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought. ENDYMION. THE rising moon has hid the stars; Her level rays, like golden bars, Lie on the landscape green, With shadows brown between. And silver white the river gleams, As if Diana, in her dreams, Had dropt her silver bow And whispers, in its song, "Where hast thou stayed so long?" THE TWO LOCKS OF HAIR. FROM THE GERMAN OF PFIZER. A YOUTH, light-hearted and content, I wander through the world; Here, Arab-like, is pitched my tent, And straight again is furled. Yet oft I dream, that once a wife Close in my heart was locked, I wake! Away that dream,-away! The end lies ever in my thought; To a grave so cold and deep The mother beautiful was brought; Then dropt the child asleep. Put now the dream is wholly o'er, I bathe mine eyes and see; [more, And wander thro' the world once A youth so light and free. IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY. No hay pájaros en los nidos de antaño. -Spanish Proverb. THE sun is bright,-the air is clear, The darting swallows soar and sing, And from the stately elms I hear The blue-bird prophesying Spring. So blue yon winding river flows, It seems an outlet from the sky, Where, waiting till the west wind blows, The freighted clouds at anchor lie. All things are new ;-the buds, the leaves, That gild the elm-tree's nodding And even the nest beneath the eaves ;- nest! All things rejoice in youth and love, Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay; For O, it is not always May! My life is cold, and dark, and dreary ; But the hopes of youth fall thick in And the days are dark and dreary. Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Behind the clouds is the sun still Thy fate is the common fate of all, Some days must be dark and TO THE RIVER CHARLES. Till at length thy rest thou findest Onward, like the stream of life. I have watched thy current glide, Overflowed me like a tide. There are no birds in last year's From celestial seas above thee THE RAINY DAY. THE day is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind is never weary; But at every gust the dead leaves fall, Take their own celestial hue. Where yon shadowy woodlands hide And thy waters disappear, me Of three friends, all true and tried Friends my soul with joy remembers! When I fan the living embers That my spirit leans to thee; BLIND BARTIMEUS. BLIND Bartimeus at the gates Say, "It is Christ of Nazareth!" The thronging multitudes increase; Θάρσει, ἔγειραι, φωνεῖ σε ! This goblet, wrought with curious art, And as it mantling passes round, Above the lowly plants it towers, It gave new strength and fearless And gladiators, fierce and rude, Then in Life's goblet freely press Then saith the Christ, as silent stands Nor prize the coloured waters less, " The crowd, "What wilt thou at my Ye that have eyes, yet cannot see, For in thy darkness and distress New light and strength they give! And he who has not learnt to know How false its sparkling bubbles show, How bitter are the drops of woe With which its brim may overflow, He has not learned to live. The prayer of Ajax was for light; Through all that dark and desperate fight, The blackness of that noonday night, Let our unceasing, earnest prayer One half the human race. Patient, though sorely tried! I pledge you in this cup of grief, Where floats the fennel's bitter leaf ! The Battle of our Life is brief, [lief,— The alarm, the struggle,-the reThen sleep we side by side. |