262 MY MOTHER'S PICTURE. THE SAME CONTINUED. Where once we dwelt, our name is heard no more, That thou might'st know me safe and warmly laid; The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestowed By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and glowed ;— Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall, Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay Not scorned in heaven, though little noticed here. I pricked them into paper with a pin, (And thou wast happier than myself the while, Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head, and smile,) MY MOTHER'S PICTURE. Could those few pleasant days again appear, 263 Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here? I would not trust my heart-the dear delight Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might— But no-w -what here we call our life is such, THE SAME CONTINUED. Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast (The storms all weathered and the ocean crossed) Shoots into port at some well-havened isle, Where spices breathe and brighter seasons smile, There sits quiescent on the floods, that show Her beauteous form reflected clear below, While airs impregnated with incense play Around her, fanning light her streamers gay;So thou, with sails how swift! hast reached the shore "Where tempests never beat nor billows roar," And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide Of life, long since has anchored by thy side. But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest, Always from port withheld, always distrestMe, howling blasts drive devious, tempest-tost, Sails ripped, seams opening wide, and compass lost, And day by day some current's thwarting force Sets me more distant from a prosperous course. But oh! the thought, that thou art safe, and he! That thought is joy, arrive what may to me. My boast is not that I deduce my birth From loins enthroned and rulers of the earth; But higher far my proud pretensions rise— The son of parents passed into the skies. 264 THE DISSOLUTION OF FRIENDSHIP. And now, farewell-Time unrevoked has run And, while the wings of fancy still are free, Couper. THE DISSOLUTION OF FRIENDSHIP. ALAS! they had been friends in youth: And life is thorny, and youth is vain : Doth work like madness in the brain. And insult to his heart's best brother: The marks of that which once hath been. Coleridge. THE FLOWERS OF THE FIELD. SWEET nurslings of the vernal skies, Relics ye are of Eden's bowers, Fallen all beside the world of life, Ye fearless in your nests abide Nor may we scorn, too proudly wise, For ye could draw the admiring gaze Alas! of thousand bosoms kind Keble. 258 THE SANDS OF DEE. Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart: Wordsworth. THE SANDS OF DEE. "Он, Mary, go and call the cattle home, And call the cattle home, And call the cattle home, The western wind was wild and dank wi' foam, The creeping tide came 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 blinding mist came down and hid the land— "Oh, is it weed, or fish, or floating hair A tress o' golden hair, O' drowned maiden's hair, Above the nets at sea? Was never salmon yet that shone so fair, Among the stakes on Dee." They rowed her in across the rolling foam, The cruel, crawling foam, The cruel, hungry foam, But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home, Across the sands o' Dee. Kingsley. |