Then stay at home, my heart, and Then heard I, more distinctly than rest: The bird is safest in its nest; O'er all that flutter their wings and A hawk is hovering in the sky: NATURE. As a fond mother, when the day is o'er, Leads by the hand her little child to bed, Half-willing, half-reluctant to be led, And leave his broken playthings on the floor, Still gazing at them through the open door; Nor wholly reassured and comforted By promises of others in their stead, Which, though more splendid, may not please him more; So Nature deals with us, and takes away Our playthings one by one, and by the hand Leads us to rest so gently, that we go Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay, Being too full of sleep to understand How far the unknown transcends the what we know. THE TIDES. I SAW the long line of the vacant shore, The sea-weed and the shells upon the sand, And the brown rocks left bare on every hand, before, The ocean breathe, and its great breast expand; And hurrying came on the defenceless land The insurgent waters with tumultuous roar. All thought and feeling and desire, I said, Love, laughter, and the exultant joy of song, Have ebbed from me forever! Suddenly o'er me They swept again from their deep ocean-bed, And in a tumult of delight, and I can see a ship come sailing in And a young man standing on the With a silken kerchief round his neck. As if the ebbing tide would flow no Now he is pressing it to his lips, more. And now he is kissing his finger-tips, The door I opened to my heavenly Who, then, would wish or dare, be Then fell upon the house a sudden gloom, A shadow on those features fair and thin; And softly from that hushed and darkened room, A DAY OF SUNSHINE. O GIFT of God! O perfect day: Whereon shall no man work, but play Whereon it is enough for me, Through every fibre of my brain, Through every nerve, through every vein, I feel the electric thrill, the touch sun Sails like a golden galleon, Towards yonder cloud-lands in the west, Towards yonder Islands of the Blest, Two angels issued, where but one Whose steep sierra far uplifts went in. All is of God! If He but wave his hand. The mists collect, the rain falls thick and loud, Till, with a smile of light on sea and land, Lo! He looks back from the departing cloud. Angels of Life and Death alike are His; Without His leave, they pass no threshold o'er; Its craggy summits white with drifts. Blow, winds! and waft through all the rooms TO LUCASTA, ON GOING BEYOND | Can speak like spirits unconfined THE SEAS. IF to be absent were to be Away from thee; Or that when I am gone You or I were alone; Then, my Lucasta, might I crave Pity from blustering wind, or swallowing wave. Though seas and land betwixt us both, Our faith and troth, Like separated souls, All time and space controls: So then we do anticipate And are alive in the skies, In heaven, their earthly bodies left behind. TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE TELL me not, sweet, I am unkind, True, a new mistress now I chase, Yet this inconstancy is such I could not love thee, dear, so much, SAMUEL LOVER. OH! WATCH YOU WELL BY DAY LIGHT. OH! watch you well by daylight, By daylight may you fear, But keep no watch in darkness The angels then are near; For Heaven the sense bestoweth, Our waking life to keep, But tender mercy showeth, To guard us in our sleep. Then watch you well by daylight. By daylight may you fear, But keep no watch in darknessThe angels then are near. Oh! watch you well in pleasure For pleasure oft betrays, But keep no watch in sorrow, When joy withdraws its rays: For in the hour of sorrow, As in the darkness drear, To Heaven entrust the morrow. For the angels then are near. O watch you well by daylight, By daylight may you fear, But keep no watch in darkness The angels then are near. THE CHILD AND THE AUTUMN Down by the river's bank I strayed I saw a child at play. She played among the yellow leaves The leaves that once were green, And flung upon the passing stream What once had blooming been: Oh! deeply did it touch my heart To see that child at play; It was the sweet unconscious sport Of childhood with decay. Fair child, if by this stream you stray, When after years go by, The scene that makes thy childhood's sport, May wake thy age's sigh: Thus, a musing minstrel strayed With a bard's devotion:- "I have loved thee well and long, With love of heaven's own making! This is not a poet's song, But a true heart's speaking, I will love thee, still, untired!" He felt he spoke - as one inspired, The words did from Truth's fountain spring. Upwaken'd by the angel's wing. Silence o'er the maiden fell, Her beauty lovelier making:And by her blush, he knew full well The dawn of love was breaking. It came like sunshine o'er his heart! He felt that they should never part, She spoke and oh!- the lovely thing Had felt the passing angel's wing. |