She pushed it wide, and, as she past, And said,-"Auf wiedersehen!" The lamp's clear gleam flits up the stair; Ah, in that chamber, whose rich air Sweet piece of bashful maiden art! The English words had seemed too fain, But these they drew us heart to heart, Yet held us tenderly apart; She said, 66 Auf wiedersehen!" PALINODE. AUTUMM. STILL thirteen years 'tis autumn now Sighs not," We meet again!" Two watched yon oriole's pendent dome, That now is void, and dank with rain, And one,-O, hope more frail than foam ! The bird to his deserted home Sings not," We meet again !" The loath gate swings with rusty creak; Once, parting there, we played at pain ; There came a parting, when the weak And fading lips essayed to speak Vainly "We meet again!" Somewhere is comfort, somewhere faith Though thou in outer dark remain ; One sweet sad voice ennobles death, And still, for eighteen centuries saith Softly, "Ye meet again!" If earth another grave must bear, Yet heaven hath won a sweeter strain, And something whispers my despair, That, from an orient chamber there, Floats down, "We meet again!" AFTER THE BURIAL. YES, faith is a goodly anchor; But, after the shipwreck, tell me In the breaking gulfs of sorrow, Then better one spar of Memory To the spirit its splendid conjectures, Immortal? I feel it and know it, 236 THE DEAD HOUSE. There's a narrow ridge in the graveyard Your logic, my friend, is perfect, Console if you will, I can bear it ; It is pagan; but wait till you feel it,— Communion in spirit! Forgive me, That little shoe in the corner, THE DEAD HOUSE. HERE once my step was quickened, A glow came forth to meet me From the flame that laughed in the grate, Danced blither with mine for a mate. "I claim you, old friend," yawned the arm-chair, "Rest your slippers on me," beamed the fender, "We know the practised finger," Said the books, "that seems like brain ;" And the shy page rustled the secret It had kept till I came again. A Sang the pillow, "My down once quivered On nightingales' throats that flew Through moonlit gardens of Hafiz To gather quaint dreams for you." But, I think, the house is unaltered, That makes the change but more! 'Tis a dead man I see in the mirrors, 'Tis his tread that chills the floor! To learn such a simple lesson, Need I go to Paris and Rome, That the many make the household, But only one the home? 'Twas just a womanly presence, An influence unexprest, But a rose she had worn, on my grave-sod 'Twas a smile, 'twas a garment's rustle, But the whole dumb dwelling grew conscious, Were it mine I would close the shutters, And the funeral fire should wind it, For it died that autumn morning To lie all dark on the hillside That looks over woodland and corn. A MOOD. PINE in the distance, Patient through sun and rain, Meeting with graceful persistence, With yielding but rooted resistance, Right for the zenith heading, Thine arms to the influence spreading To me 'tis not cheer thou art singing : O mournful tree, In thy boughs for ever clinging, Of waves on the shore A shattered vessel flinging. As thou musest still of the ocean On which thou must float at last, And seem'st to foreknow The shipwreck's woe And the sailor wrenched from the broken mast, Do I, in this vague emotion, This sadness that will not pass, Though the air throbs with wings, Do I forbode, alas! The ship-building longer and wearier, And then the darker and drearier Wreck of a broken life? THE VOYAGE TO VINLAND. I. BIORN'S BECKONERS. Now Biörn, the son of Heriulf, had ill days Because the heart within him seethed with blood |