Poems Chiefly from Manuscript Part 21

"My love is young and handsome As any in the town, She's worth a ploughman's ransom In the drab cotton gown."

He sang and turned his furrow oer And urged his team along, While on the willow as before The old crow croaked his song: The ploughman sung his rustic lay And sung of Phoebe all the day.

The crow he was in love no doubt And [so were] many things: The ploughman finished many a bout, And l.u.s.tily he sings, "My love she is a milking maid With red rosy cheek; Of cotton drab her gown was made, I loved her many a week."

His milking maid the ploughman sung Till all the fields around him rung.

_Now is Past_

_Now_ is past--the happy _now_ When we together roved Beneath the wildwood's oak-tree bough And Nature said we loved.

Winter's blast The _now_ since then has crept between, And left us both apart.

Winters that withered all the green Have froze the beating heart.

Now is past.

_Now_ is past since last we met Beneath the hazel bough; Before the evening sun was set Her shadow stretched below.

Autumn's blast Has stained and blighted every bough; Wild strawberries like her lips Have left the mosses green below, Her bloom's upon the hips.

Now is past.

_Now_ is past, is changed agen, The woods and fields are painted new.

Wild strawberries which both gathered then, None know now where they grew.

The skys oercast.

Wood strawberries faded from wood sides, Green leaves have all turned yellow; No Adelaide walks the wood rides, True love has no bed-fellow.

Now is past.

_Song_

I wish I was where I would be, With love alone to dwell, Was I but her or she but me, Then love would all be well.

I wish to send my thoughts to her As quick as thoughts can fly, But as the winds the waters stir The mirrors change and fly.

_First Love_

I ne'er was struck before that hour With love so sudden and so sweet.

Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower And stole my heart away complete.

My face turned pale as deadly pale, My legs refused to walk away, And when she looked "what could I ail?"

My life and all seemed turned to clay.

And then my blood rushed to my face And took my sight away.

The trees and bushes round the place Seemed midnight at noonday.

I could not see a single thing, Words from my eyes did start; They spoke as chords do from the string And blood burnt round my heart.

Are flowers the winter's choice?

Is love's bed always snow?

She seemed to hear my silent voice And love's appeal to know.

I never saw so sweet a face As that I stood before: My heart has left its dwelling-place And can return no more.

_Mary Bayfield_

How beautiful the summer night When birds roost on the mossy tree, When moon and stars are s.h.i.+ning bright And home has gone the weary bee!

Then Mary Bayfield seeks the glen, The white hawthorn and grey oak tree, And nought but heaven can tell me then How dear thy beauty is to me.

Dear is the dewdrop to the flower, The old wall to the weary bee, And silence to the evening hour, And ivy to the stooping tree.

Dearer than these, than all beside, Than blossoms to the moss-rose tree, The maid who wanders by my side-- Sweet Mary Bayfield is to me.

Sweet is the moonlight on the tree, The stars above the gla.s.sy lake, That from the bottom look at me Through shadows of the crimping brake.

Such are sweet things--but sweeter still Than these and all beside I see The maid whose look my heart can thrill, My Mary Bayfield's look to me.

O Mary with the dark brown hair, The rosy cheek, the beaming eye, I would thy shade were ever near; Then would I never grieve or sigh.

I love thee, Mary dearly love-- There's nought so fair on earth I see, There's nought so dear in heaven above, As Mary Bayfield is to me.

_The Maid of Jerusalem_

Maid of Jerusalem, by the Dead Sea, I wandered all sorrowing thinking of thee,-- Thy city in ruins, thy kindred deplored, All fallen and lost by the Ottoman's sword.

I saw thee sit there in disconsolate sighs, Where the hall of thy fathers a ruined heap lies.

Thy fair finger showed me the place where they trod, In thy childhood where flourished the city of G.o.d.

The place where they fell and the scenes where they lie, In the tomb of Siloa--the tear in her eye She stifled: transfixed there it grew like a pearl, Beneath the dark lash of the sweet Jewish Girl.

Jerusalem is fallen! still thou art in bloom, As fresh as the ivy around the lone tomb, And fair as the lily of morning that waves Its sweet-scented bells over desolate graves.

When I think of Jerusalem in kingdoms yet free, I shall think of its ruins and think upon thee; Thou beautiful Jewess, content thou mayest roam; A bright spot in Eden still blooms as thy home.

Song

I would not feign a single sigh Nor weep a single tear for thee: The soul within these orbs burns dry; A desert spreads where love should be.

I would not be a worm to crawl A writhing suppliant in thy way; For love is life, is heaven, and all The beams of an immortal day.

For sighs are idle things and vain, And tears for idiots vainly fall.

I would not kiss thy face again Nor round thy s.h.i.+ning slippers crawl.

Love is the honey, not the bee, Nor would I turn its sweets to gall For all the beauty found in thee, Thy lily neck, rose cheek, and all.

I would not feign a single tale Thy kindness or thy love to seek; Nor sigh for Jenny of the Vale, Her ruby smile or rosy cheek.

I would not have a pain to own For those dark curls and those bright eyes A frowning lip, a heart of stone, False love and folly I despise.

_Thou Flower of Summer_

When in summer thou walkest In the meads by the river, And to thyself talkest, Dost thou think of one ever-- A lost and a lorn one That adores thee and loves thee?

And when happy morn's gone, And nature's calm moves thee, Leaving thee to thy sleep like an angel at rest, Does the one who adores thee still live in thy breast?

Does nature eer give thee Love's past happy vision, And wrap thee and leave thee In fancies elysian?

Thy beauty I clung to, As leaves to the tree; When thou fair and young too Looked lightly on me, Till love came upon thee like the sun to the west And shed its perfuming and bloom on thy breast.

_The Swallow_