Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought, Nor voice, nor sound betrays Its deep, impassioned gaze. It comes, the beautiful, the free, In silence and alone To seek the elected one. It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep, Of him, who slumbering lies. O weary hearts! O slumbering eyes! Are fraught with fear and pain, No one is so accursed by fate, No one so utterly desolate, But some heart, though unknown, Responds, as if with unseen wings, An angel touched its quivering strings ; And whispers, in its song, "Where hast thou stayed so long!" THE TWO LOCKS OF HAIR FROM THE GERMAN OF PFIZER 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 'I wake! Away that dream,- away! So long, that both by night and day The end lies ever in my thought; But now the dream is wholly o'er, I bathe mine eyes and see; And wander through the world once more, A youth so light and free. Two locks, and they are wondrous fair, Left me that vision mild; The brown is from the mother's hair, The blond is from the child. And when I see that lock of gold, I wish that I were dead. IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY No hay pájaros en los nidos de antaño. Spanish Proverb. HE sun is bright, the air is clear, THE 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 crest, And even the nest beneath the eaves ;There are no birds in last year's nest! All things rejoice in youth and love, Maiden, that read'st this simple rhyme, Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth, THE RAINY DAY HE day is cold, and dark, and dreary; THE It rains, and the wind is never weary ; The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, But at every gust the dead leaves fall, And the day is dark and dreary. My life is cold, and dark, and dreary; My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past, But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast And the days are dark and dreary. Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Some days must be dark and dreary. GOD'S-ACRE I LIKE that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls It consecrates each grave within its walls, God's-Acre! Yes, that blessed name imparts Comfort to those, who in the grave have sown The seed, that they had garnered in their hearts, Their bread of life, alas! no more their own. Into its furrows shall we all be cast, In the sure faith, that we shall rise again At the great harvest, when the archangel's blast Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain. |