"Your eyes the advancing spears of day can see "Since first I saw Atlantic throw On our grim rocks his thunderous snow" "So he mused, as he sat, of a sunnier clime" "Zekle crep' up, quite unbeknown" "An'-wal, he up an' kist her " "The field o' Lexin'ton where England tried " "Flashed on afore the charge's thunder" EARLIER POEMS. THRENODIA. When his glad mother on him stole GONE, gone from us! and shall we see O, thoughts were brooding in those eyes, Those sibyl-leaves of destiny, Those calm eyes, nevermore? That would have soared like strong winged birds Those deep, dark eyes so warm and Far, far into the skies, bright, Wherein the fortunes of the man The stars of those two gentle eyes As we watched them slowly rise, And she would read them o'er and o'er, Over their dear astrology, And tears would slide from out her eye, Gladding the earth with song, Had he but tarried with us long! How quiet are the hands That wove those pleasant bands! The tongue that scarce had learned to Alas! too deep, too deep claim An entrance to a mother's heart Is this his slumber! Time scarce can number By that dear talisman, a mother's name, The years ere he shall wake again. Sleeps all forgetful of its art! I loved to see the infant soul Fluttering with half-fledged words, That more than words expressed, O, may we see his eyelids open then! As the airy gossamere, Is it not better here to be, Making it yet more lonely? A restless grave, where thou shalt lie Look down beneath thy wave-worn baik, Ever waiting there for thee: And snorting through the angry spray, Upon the seaweed, slimy and dark, Look down beneath thy wave-worn bark Thus, on Life's lonely sea, Voices sad, from far and near, Here all is pleasant as a dream; Listen! O, listen! Here is a gush of many streams, And every wish and longing seems Here ever hum the golden bees So smooth the sand, the yellow sand, That thy keel will not grate as it touches the land; All around with a slumberous sound, The singing waves slide up the strand, And there, where the smooth, wet pebbles be, The waters gurgle longingly, As if they fain would seek the shore, Forevermore. Thus, on Life's gloomy sea, "Here is rest and peace for thee!" IRENÉ HERS is a spirit deep, and crystal-clear; Calmly beneath her earnest face it lies, Free without boldness, meek without a fear, Quicker to look than speak its sympathies, Far down into her large and patient eyes So circled lives she with Love's holy light, That from the shade of self she walketh free; The garden of her soul still keepeth she A dignity as moveless as the centre; Unto her queenly soul doth minister. Most gentle is she; her large charity (An all unwitting, childlike gift in her) Not freer is to give than meek to bear; And, though herself not unacquaint with |