« AnkstesnisTęsti »
Our darling, glorious, health-rosed,
Whose dark, dewy eyes reposed
On some far-off enrapturing vision
Of the children's realm elysian!
Ah! with what transport we kissed him!
Not dead! not dead! howe'er we missed him!
Heaven, too, vouchsafes another token;
The little organ was not broken!
Lo! baby turns it round and round,
Rejoicing in the wonted sound,
Yea, singing in his blouse of blue,
Lovelier than we ever knew.
While he lay nightly racked with pain,
Wept and shrieked the hurricane.
Yea, on that terrible night he died,
The clamour of fell fiends, beside
Themselves with hell's blaspheming anger,
Exultant in his god-wept languor,
Seemed to hound him on to death,
Hungry for his innocent breath!
But now what raves it for, and howls
Around with moan of drifted souls!
Are ye not satiate with such
A pure white victim to your clutch,
Yielded by the Powers above,
Who yet we dare to dream are Love?
The loveliest, most heavenly-hearted
Child ever by themselves imparted
To this poor earth of ours!
In fierce despair, amid the groaning
Of those evil blasts I heard
A still small voice, as of a bird.
Nay, bird had ne'er so sweet a voice,
Nor ever bird may so rejoice;
No spring that babbles in the summer,
Nor flower-enamoured fairy hummer!
What is it, Lord? can it be human ?
Song of child, or song of woman?
Some loving Ariel doth toy
In self-abandonment of joy!
Like, yet unlike our vanished angel!
I know I deem it an evangel
From my darling, hovering
In the very storm, to sing
Near my yearning soul, to tell
What seems the blasphemy of hell
Is love, to him who loveth well!
In bluest air the melody
On silver wings appears to fly;
And lo! in live germander blue
A threefold flower-cluster flew,
Child-seraphim, arrayed in white,
Fair with dewy eyes of light;
As when two swallows on the wing,
Circle each other dallying;
In playful love we hear them cleaving
Blue air with dances they are weaving;
So on tender pulsing pinion
Audibly the heaven's dominion
Many a threefold flower-band
Of children clove, while in their bland
Spirit-wreathing, when one passed,
Shadow delicate fell fast
From him upon a sister child,
Softening to mood more mild
Her raptured whiteness undefiled.
When the jubilant hymnals roam,
Buoyant-winged as sunny foam,
High-flung, wing-wafted, in the dome,
Or solemn-branched cathedral aisle,
From pure boy-bosoms, all the while
To me it seems my darling mingles
With the sound that burns and tingles,
Floating calm in the calm sea
Of all unshadowed harmony.
Holy, Holy, Holy! mount
Arrowy song-flight from the fount
Of our earth-music! that descending
Erst from heaven, will be blending
Now with his full songs of joy,
Who, lark-like, sings where no alloy
Of earth a gentle soul may trouble
In her perennial sweet bubble,
Whose lily petal ever fair
Reposes, feeding in live air.
IV.-" THAT THEY ALL MAY BE ONE."
HENE'ER there comes a little child,
My darling comes with him;
Whene'er I hear a birdie wild
Who sings his merry whim,
Mine sings with him:
If a low strain of music sails
Among melodious hills and dales,
When a white lamb or kitten leaps,
Or star, or vernal flower peeps,
When rainbow dews are pulsing joy,
Or sunny waves, or leaflets toy,
Then he who sleeps
Softly wakes within my heart;
With a kiss from him I start;
He lays his head upon my breast,
Tho' I may not see my guest,
In all that's pure and fair and good,
I feel the spring-time of thy blood,
Hear thy whispered accents flow
To lighten woe,
Feel them blend,
Although I fail to comprehend.
And if one woundeth with harsh word,
Or deed, a child, or beast, or bird,
It seems to strike weak Innocence
Through him, who hath for his defence
Thunder of the All-loving Sire,
And mine, to whom He gave the fire.
I.-" THE PITY OF IT.”
our love may fail, Lily,
If our love may fail,
What will mere life avail, Lily,
Seed that promised blossom,
Withered in the mould,
Pale petals overblowing,
Failing from the gold!
When the fervent fingers
May the life that lingers
Find repose, Lily,
Who may dream of all the music
Only a lover hears,
Hearkening to hearts triumphant Bearing down the years?
Ah! may eternal anthems dwindle To a low sound of tears?
Room in all the ages
For our love to grow,
Prayers of both demanded
A little while ago: