Being as pure as the virgin-eyed Truth, Maiden whose days like a summer breeze flows, Dost thou e'er think, mid the rapture of youth, "Ah! there are some that are weeping and low; Some on whom beauty smiled never at all; Some to whom health is, alas! but a name; Some to whom life is bitter as gall, Fickle in hopes, and uncertain in aim; Some who must mourn o'er youth's premature blight; Ever toward thee, abroad or at home, Dreaming eyes languish and fond bosoms yearn. Maid, for whom genius sparkles with song, Music bursts out with its loftiest thrill, Dost thou ere think, mid the mirth of the throng, Feel not the thrill of the clasping of hands. Suddenly falls, or the beam of an eye; Maiden! the dreaming when hushed is the sound, Love's shining token, he gave unto thee; When in the trust of the moon-lustred night Wakes in thy bosom the rapture and glow, Wells from those soul-eyes a chastened love-light, Looking on days of bright summers ago! Days when he knelt for thy love and was silent; Sunsets beglowed with hand-clasp and vow; Times when a heart beat against thy pure breast, Lips dropped Affection's chaste seal on thy brow! When those long missives come over the wave, Tender, impassioned, persuasive to theeOft hast thou pictured him, noble and brave, Dream'st of the hopes in the future that be Dost thou e'er think, mid the dream of thy joy, "Ah! there are some who are loveless and lone ; Some who ne'er basked in the light of an eye, Ne'er heard those fond words, 'I love thee, my own ;' Some who would give all the world for the blissGive all its wealth for the love of a heart; Feel for one moment the thrill of a kiss, Know the emotions Love's breathings impart ! One little heart in the wide world to love." Caught from thy presence a glimmer of light. Fleeting like all things of earth that are bright, Uprose the white sails and bore thee away Far from the reach of our mist-burdened sight. Grieved hearts and wan eyes wept sadly behind, Prayer-freighted breezes soon wafted thee o'er, Love-sighs to meet thee came borne on the wind, Kindred forms welcomed thee back to their shore. Time hurried on in its frigid unrest, Passed without leaving a trace on thy brow; Months sped away-joyous months! thou wert blessed, Happy and blithe as the Peri wert thou— Months that to me brought sorrow and blight, Breathed but affliction's soul-writhing breath Years! so they seemed, when I groped mid the night, Passed through the vale of the shadows of deathAges! when up from my heart, thy own eyes Looking so tender, so hopeful, so glad, Pointing me up to the rest of the skies, Was the one lone consolation I had. Once more the white sails uprose and you came; Ripened and deepened a little perhaps. Wildly drank in each voluptuous strain, I could have thought that the past dreamy space Vanished the singer in sunlight away; Over my being the black torrent rushed, All the more dark for the brief glimpse of day. Ah! there are some without compass or chart, Tossing and toiling-the sport of the wave; Some who meet friends but to sorrow and part, Some who could welcome the rest of the grave. Some to whom Hope is the wrecker's false gleam— Joy but the city-world's far-distant hum— Love but a beautiful, sorrowful dream— I REST IN THE EVENTIDE. SAT beside the window, sad and still, O'er silent field and forest, rock and dell; And there was-rest Rest in the eventide. I wiped my tear-stained eyes, and gazed and gazed; A torrent-gush of moonlight burst around; Night's solemn brow grew bright, the river blazed, And floods of glory filled the vast profound; The village roofs, the church, the tombs, the spire, The landscape stretching out on every side, |