Dream!-Who dreams Of the God who governs a thousand streams? Ah, who is this Spirit fine? 'Tis Wine, boys! 'tis Wine ! God Bacchus, a friend of mine. Than Grape or Tree, And the best of all good company. SONG. Let us sing and sigh! Let us sigh and sing! Sunny haunts have no such pleasures Who would seek the crowd, Who would seek the noon, That could woo the pale maid Silence Smiles are things for youth, Things for a merry rhyme : I LOVE HIM. I love him, I dream of him, I sing of him by day, And all the night I hear him talk,- There's beauty in the morning; There's sweetness in the May; There's music in the running stream: I love him, I trust in him; IGNORANCE IS BLISS. Rains fall, suns shine, winds flee, Perhaps, by some command Sent earthward from above, Thy heart was doom'd to lean on mine, Why ask when joy doth smile, From what bright heaven it fell? SHE WAS NOT FAIR. She was not fair, nor full of grace, Nor crown'd with thought or aught beside, No wealth had she of mind or face, To win our love or raise our pride; No lover's thought her cheek did touch, No poet's dream was round her thrown: And yet we miss her,―ah! too much, Now she hath flown. We miss her when the morning calls, Some fancy small or subtle thought Is check'd ere to its blossom grown, Some chain is broken that we wrought,Now she hath flown. No solid good nor hope defined Is marr'd now she hath sunk in night; And yet the strong immortal Mind Is stopp'd in its triumphant flight. Stern friend! what power is in a tear, What strength in one poor thought alone, When all we know is-She was here And She hath flown! THE POET TO HIS WIFE. How many summers, Love! Have I been thine? Hast thou been mine? When it bends the flowers, Hath left no mark behind To count the hours. Some weight of thought, though loath, On thee he leaves; Some lines of care round both Perhaps he weaves; Some fears, a soft regret For joys scarce known; Sweet looks we half forget: Ah! with what thankless heart I mourn and sing! Look, where our children start Like sudden Spring! With tongues all sweet and low, To Thee and Thine. RICHARD HENRY DANA. 1787-1879. THE LITTLE BEACHBIRD. Thou little bird! thou dweller by the sea! O'er the waves dost thou fly? O rather, bird! with me Through the fair land rejoice! Thy flitting form comes ghostly dim and pale, Thy cry is weak and scared, As if thy mates had shared The doom of us; thy wail What does it bring to me? Thou call'st along the sand and haunt'st the surge, Restless and sad, as if, in strange accord With the motion and the roar Of waves that drive to shore, One spirit did ye urge,— The Mystery-the Word. Of thousands thou both sepulchre and pall, A tale of mourning tells : Then turn thee, little bird! and take thy flight Come, quit with me the shore For gladness and the light Where birds of summer sing! GEORGE GORDON BYRON (LORD BYRON). 1788-1824. THE ISLEs of greECE. The Isles of Greece! the Isles of Greece! But all except their sun is set. The Scian and the Teian muse, The hero's harp, the lover's lute, To sounds which echo further West The mountains look on Marathon, And Marathon looks on the sea; I dream'd that Greece might still be free : For standing on the Persians' grave A King sate on the rocky brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis, And men in nations,—all were his ; |