Hesperus Part 16

The stars may s.h.i.+ne, the moon may smile, The earth in beauty languish, Life's sorrows these can but beguile, But thou canst heal its anguish.

Thy voice, like rills Of silver, trills Such sounds of liquid sweetness, Each accent rolls Along our souls, In lyrical completeness.

If Friends.h.i.+p lend thee such a grace, That men nor G.o.ds may slight it, How blest the one who views thy face When Love comes down to light it!

And, oh, if he Who holds in fee Thy beauty, truth, and reason, A traitor prove To thee and Love, We'll spurn him for his treason.

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GERTRUDE.

Underneath the maple-tree Gertrude worked her filigree, All the summer long; To sweet airs her voice was wed, As she plied her golden thread; Echo stealing through the grove Filched away the words of love, And the birds, from tree to tree, Bore the witching melody Through avenues of Song.

Underneath the maple-trees Zephyrs chant her melodies, All the summer long; Words and airs no longer wed, Death has snapped the vocal thread Echo sleeping in the grove Dreams of liquid airs of love, And the birds among the trees Fill with sweetest symphonies Whole avenues of Song.

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FLOWERS.

Thank G.o.d I love the Flowers!

Mute voices of the Spring, That gladden all her bowers With their varied blossoming; They weave a charm around them On each summer dale and bough, For a Fairy train has bound them In wreaths upon her brow.

Far up along the mountain, And in the valleys green, In the field, and by the fountain, The smiling ones are seen; Some looking up to heaven, With eyes of deepest blue; Some stooping down at even To quaff the sparkling dew.

And from them all there speaketh A language sweet and pure, Fitted for him who seeketh A G.o.d's nomenclature.

As tidal pulses thrill the seas, And moments build the hours, Heaven breathes her unvoiced mysteries In sermons from the Flowers.

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THE UNATTAINABLE.

I yearn for the Unattainable; For a glimpse of a brighter day, When hatred and strife, With their legions rife, Shall forever have pa.s.sed away; When pain shall cease, And the dawn of peace Come down from heaven above, And man can meet his fellow-man In the spirit of Christian Love.

I yearn for the Unattainable; For a Voice that may long be still, To compel the mind, As heaven designed, To work the Eternal Will; When the brute that sleeps In the heart's still deeps Will be changed to Pity's dove, And man can meet his fellow-man In the spirit of Perfect Love.

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YEARNINGS.

I long for diviner regions,-- The spirit would reach its goal; Though, this world hath surpa.s.sing beauty, It warreth against the soul.

There's a cloud in the eastern heaven; Beyond it, a cold gray sky; But I know that the sun's rare radiance Will brighten it by and by.

In the fane of my soul is glowing The joy of a hope to come, That will touch with its Memnon finger The lips that are cold and dumb:

Till illumed by the smile of heaven, And blest with a purer life, Will the gloom that o'ershades my spirit Depart like a vanquished strife.

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INGRAt.i.tUDE.

Full on the wave the moonlight weeps, To quiet its weary breast; Cruelly cold the mad wave leaps, With the moons.h.i.+ne on its crest; Or with scowl, or growl, to the sh.o.r.e it creeps, And sinks to its selfish rest.

Full on yon man-brute smiles the wife, To gladden his turbid breast; Savagely stern he seeks the life Where he erewhile sought for zest; With a curse, or worse, he ends the strife, And sinks to his drunken rest.

Sea! has the moon no charms for thee That can touch thy cruel breast?

Man! cannot woman's charity Give ease to thy soul oppressed?

Thou shalt flee, O sea! the moon's witchery, Till man has his final rest!

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TRUE LOVE.

Her love is like the hardy flower That blooms amid the Alpine snows; Deep-rooted in an icy bower, No blast can chill its sweet repose; But fresh as is the tropic rose, Drenched in mellowest sunny beams, It has as sweet delicious dreams As any flower that grows.

And though an avalanche came down And robbed it of the light of day, That which withstood the tempest's frown In grief would never pine away.

Hope might withhold her feeblest ray, Within her bosom's snowy tomb Love still would wear its everbloom, The gayest of the gay.

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AN EVENING THOUGHT.

Bird of the fanciful plumage, That foldest thy wings in the west, Imbuing the s.h.i.+mmering ocean With the hues of thy delicate breast, Pa.s.sing away into Dreamland, To visions of heavenly rest!

Spirit! when thou art permitted To bask in the sunset of life; Serene in thine eventide splendour, Thy countenance victory rife; Leaving the world where thou'st triumphed Alike o'er its greatness and strife:

Thine be the destiny, spirit, To set like the sun in the west; Folding thy wings of rare plumage, Conscious of infinite rest, Heralded on to thy haven, The Fortunate Isles of the Blest.