A vicious parent shaming still its child, | Three wives sat up in the lighthouse Poor anxious penitence, is quick dis solved ; Its discords quenched by meeting harmonies, Die in the large and charitable air. That better self shall live till human Shall fold its eyelids, and the human sky Be gathered like a scroll within the tomb, Unread forever. This is life to come, tower, And they trimmed the lamps as the sun went down, They looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower, And the night rack came rolling up ragged and brown! But men must work, and women must weep, Though storms be sudden, and waters deep, And the harbor bar be moaning. Three corpses lay out on the shining sands In the morning gleam as the tide went down, And the women are weeping and wringing their hands For those who will never come back to the town; For men must work, and women must weep, Which martyred men have made more And the sooner it's over, the sooner to For us, glorious who strive to follow. May I reach That purest heaven, -be to other souls The cup of strength in some great agony, Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love, Beget the smiles that have no cruelty, sleep, And good by to the bar and its moaning. THE SANDS OF DEE. Be the sweet presence of a good diffused, "O MARY, go and call the cattle home, And in diffusion ever more intense! So shall I join the choir invisible, Whose music is the gladness of the world. CHARLES KINGSLEY. [1819-1874.] THE THREE FISHERS. THREE fishers went sailing out into the west, Out into the west as the sun went down ; And call the cattle home, And call the cattle home, Across the sands of Dee"; The western wind was wild and dank wi' foam, And all alone went she. The western tide crept up along the sand, And o'er and o'er the sand, And round and round the sand, As far as eye could see. The rolling mist came down and hid the land, And never home came she. Each thought on the woman who loved "O, is it weed, or fish, or floating hair, The cruel hungry foam, To her grave beside the sea: Of the shearers that I see, Ne'er a body kens me, But still the boatmen hear her call the Though I kent them a' at Strathairly; And this fisher-wife I pass, Can she be the braw lass That I kissed at the back of Strathairly! If no brother's sorrow thou canst lighten | That hymn for which the whole world By daily sympathy and gentle tone. longs, A worthy hymn in woman's praise; The best half of creation's best, Its heart to feel, its eye to see, The crown and complex of the rest, Its aim and its epitome. Yet now it is my chosen task To sing her worth as maid and wife; And by her gentleness made great, From her who wields the powers of love), Our lifted lives at last should touch That lofty goal to which they move: Until we find, as darkness rolls Far off, and fleshly mists dissolve, That nuptial contrasts are the poles On which the heavenly spheres revolve. THE CHASE. SHE wearies with an ill unknown; Within a lonely castle-moat; Within the crescent's gleaming arms, The present shows her heedless eyes A future dim with vague alarms: She sees, and yet she scarcely sees; For, life-in-life not yet begun, Too many are life's mysteries For thought to fix t'ward any one. She's told that maidens are by youths She's sorry that she cannot care. Who's this that meets her on her way? Comes he as enemy, or friend; Or both? Her bosom seems to say He cannot pass, and there an end. Whom does he love? Does he confer His heart on worth that answers his? LETITIA E. LANDON. Perhaps he's come to worship her: Advancing stepless, quick, and still, Then terrifies with dreadful strides : At first, there's nothing to resist : He fights with all the forms of peace; He comes about her like a mist, With subtle, swift, unseen increase; And then, unlooked for, strikes amain Some stroke that frightens her to death; And grows all harmlessness again, Ere she can cry, or get her breath. At times she stops, and stands at bay; But he, in all more strong than she, Subdues her with his pale dismay, Or more admired audacity. All people speak of him with praise: How wise his talk; how sweet his tone; What manly worship in his gaze! It nearly makes her heart his own. With what an air he speaks her name: His manner always recollects Her sex and still the woman's claim Is taught its scope by his respects. Her charms, perceived to prosper first In his beloved advertencies, When in her glass they are rehearsed, Prove his most powerful allies. Ah, whither shall a maiden flee, With hope perseverant, still renews! Why fly so fast? Her flattered breast Thanks him who finds her fair and good; She makes it more, with bashful art, The gallant credit he accords To all the signs of good in her, Redeems itself; his praiseful words What they attribute still confer. Her heart is thrice as rich in bliss, She's three times gentler than before: He gains a right to call her his, Now she through him is so much more! Ah, might he, when by doubts aggrieved, Behold his tokens next her breast, 253 At all his words and sighs perceived Against its blithe upheaval pressed. But still she flies: should she be won, It must not be believed or thought She yields: she's chased to death, undone, Surprised, and violently caught. THE LOVER. He meets, by heavenly chance express, Which others cannot understand. To match the promise in her eyes, And round her happy footsteps blow The authentic airs of Paradise. The least is well, yet nothing's light In all the lover does; for he Who pitches hope at such a height Will do all things with dignity. She is so perfect, true, and pure, Her virtue all virtue so endears, That often, when he thinks of her, Life's meanness fills his eyes with tears LETITIA E. LANDON. THE SHEPHERD-BOY. LIKE some vision olden Of far other time, When the age was golden, In the young world's prime Is thy soft pipe ringing, O lonely shepherd-boy, What song art thou singing, In thy youth and joy? Or art thou complaining Dost ask what thou hast not? |