The rose is weeping for her love, And he is flying fast above, To her he will not fail. Already golden eve appears; He wings his way along; The moon in pearly light may steep The rose hath ceas'd to droop and weep, He sings to her, and o'er the trees She hears his sweet notes swim ; The world may weary; she but sees Her love, and hears but him. LUCIFER AND ELISSA Elissa. Nigh one year ago, watch'd that large bright star, much where 't is now: Time hath not touch'd its everlasting lightning, Nor dimm'd the glorious glances of its eye ; Nor passion clouded it, nor any star am; A power, an ill which doth outbalance being. Like worlds upon their centres, - still I This one hand dragg'd the angels from their thrones : Am I not worthy to have lov'd thee, lady? Thou mortal model of all heavenliness! Yet all these spoils have I abandon'd, cower'd My powers, my course becalm'd, and stoop'd from the high Destruction of the skies for thee, and him Who loving thee is with thee lost, both lost. Thou hast but serv'd the purpose of the fiend; Art but the gilded vessel of selfish sin Whose poison hath drunken made a soul to death: Thou, useless now. I come to bid thee die. Elissa. Wicked, impure, tormentor of the world, I knew thee not. Yet doubt not thou it was Who darkenedst for a moment with base aim God to evade, and shun in this world, man, Love's heart; with selfish end alone redeeming Me from the evil, the death-fright. Take, nathless, One human soul's forgiveness, such the sum Of thanks I feel for heaven's great grace that thou From the overflowings of love's cup mayst quench Thy breast's broad burning desert, and fertilize Aught may be in it, that boasts one root of good. Lucifer. It is doubtless sad to feel one day our last. Elissa. I knew, forewarn'd, I was dy- | ing. God is good. The heavens grow darker as they purer grow, And both, as we approach them; so near death The soul grows darker and diviner hourly. Alone appears the fitting end to bliss One instant, and thou wakest in heaven As ocean racing fast and fierce to reach Some headland, ere the moon with maddening ray Forestall him, and rebellious tides excite To vain strife, nor of the innocent skiff that thwarts His path, aught heeds, but with dispiteous foam Wrecks deathful, I, made hasty by time's end Impending, thus fill up fate's tragic form. A word could kill her. See, she hath gone to heaven. Dora Greenwell A SONG OF FAREWELL THE Spring will come again, dear friends, The bud will hang upon the bough, And many a pleasant sound will rise to greet her on her way, The voice of bird, and leaf, and stream, and warm winds in their play; Ah! sweet the airs that round her breathe! and bountiful is she. She bringeth all the things that fresh, and sweet, and hopeful be; She scatters promise on the earth with open hand and free, But not for me, my friends, But not for me! Summer will come again, dear friends, Will rise through the long sunny day And deep the dreamy woods will own the slumbrous spell she weaves, And send a greeting, mix'd with sighs, through all their quivering leaves. Oh, precious are her glowing gifts! and plenteous is she, She bringeth all the lovely things that bright and fragrant be, She scatters fulness on the Earth with lavish hand and free, But not for me, my friends, Autumn will come again, dear friends, With gold upon the harvest-field, LIGHT THOг art the joy of age: He passeth o'er the silent woods, they wither at his breath, Slow fading in a still decay, a change that is not Death. Oh! rich and liberal, and wise, and provident is he ! He taketh to his garner-house the things that ripen'd be, He gathereth his store from Earth, and silently And he will gather me, my friends, TO CHRISTINA ROSSETTI And the strength of the blood-red wine, With the scent of the curling vine, With the balm of the rose's breath, - And thine is the Song of Death! George Macdonald Thy sun is dear when long the shadow falls. Forth to its friendliness the old man crawls, And, like the bird hung out in his poor cage To gather song from radiance, in his chair Through rifted loops alighting on the gold But sleepy 'mid the ruins that enfold. What soul-like changes, evanescent moods, Upon the face of the still passive earth, Thou with thy seasons and thy hours art ever calling forth! Even like a lord of music bent Who gives to tears and smiles an equal birth! When clear as holiness the morning ray Casts the rock's dewy darkness at its feet, Mottling with shadows all the mountain gray; When, at the hour of sovereign noon, And when a yellower glory slanting passes 'Twixt longer shadows o'er the meadow grasses; No mood of mind, no melody of soul, Of operative single power, Yet all the colors that our passionate eyes devour, In rainbow, moonbow, or in opal gem, In the green corn, with scarlet poppies lit, Thee on the vast white cloud that floats away, Bearing upon its skirt a brown moon-ray ! flowers upon the BABY WHERE did you come from, baby dear? Where did you get those eyes so blue? What makes the light in them sparkle and spin ? Some of the starry spikes left in. Where did you get that little tear? I found it waiting when I got here. What makes your forehead so smooth and high? A soft hand strok'd it as I went by. What makes your cheek like a warm white rose? I saw something better than any one knows. Whence that three-corner'd smile of bliss? Where did you get this pearly ear? Where did you get those arms and hands? Love made itself into bonds and bands. Feet, whence did you come, you darling things? From the same box as the cherubs' wings. How did they all just come to be you ? God thought about me, and so I grew. But how did you come to us, you dear? God thought about you, and so I ar here. SONG I DREAM'D that I woke from a dream, The door was wide, and the house Was full of the morning wind; At the door two armed warders Stood silent, with faces blind. And hover round it murmuring Upon a little girl I look It seems my darling comes to me I think of her when spirit-bow'd ; A glory fills the place! Like sudden light on swords, the proud But cannot understand My strength of heart and hand. That grave content and touching grace Our Christie is no rosy Grace With beauty all may see, Grow half so dear to me. Meek as the wood anemone glints To see if heaven be blue, Is my pale flower with her sweet tints Of heaven shining through. |