And seat me on a bank, and draw them near, Tell me their names, their daily tasks, and show Where wild wood-strawberries in the copses grow. So passed the day in this delightful land: I journeyed, and at glowing eventide That night I slumbered sweetly, being right glad Behind the curtain talking soft and low: Methought I did not heed their utterance fine, Till one of them said, softly, "Eglantine." I started up awake; 'twas silence all : My own fond heart had shaped that utterance clear; And "Ah!" methought, "how sweetly did it fall, Though but in dream, upon the listening ear! How sweet from other lips the name well known, That name, so many a year heard only from mine own!" I thought awhile, then slumber came to me, The near all ocean, and the far all haze; Through the white polished water sharks did glide, And up in heaven I saw no stars to guide. "Have mercy, God!" but lo! my raft uprose; The milk-white mirror, till, with sudden spring, But now, O joy! unhoped to calm my dread, Some moonlight filtered through a clift o'erhead. I climbed the lofty trees-the blanchèd trees- O happy chance! O fortune to admire! And as I gazed upon the yew-tree's trunk, It charmed me till I wept with keen delight; And in my dream, methought, as it drew near, The very clouds in heaven stooped low to hear. Beat high, beat low, wild heart so deeply stirred, For high as heaven runs up the piercing strain; The restless music fluttering like a bird Bemoaned herself, and dropped to earth again, Heaping up sweetness, till I was afraid That I should die of grief when it did fade. And it DID fade; but while with eager ear I drank its last long echo dying away, I was aware of footsteps that drew near, And round the ivied chancel seemed to stray; Oh, soft above the hallowed place they trodSoft as the fall of foot that is not shod. I turned--'t was even so-yes, Eglantine! came; Then on her dimpled feet I saw it gleam, My darling! O my darling! not the less My dream went on because I knew it such; She came towards me in her loveliness A thing too pure, methought, for mortal touch; The rippling gold did on her bosom meet, The long white robe descended to her feet. The fringed lids dropped low, as sleep-oppressed; Her dreamy smile was very fair to see, And her two hands were folded to her breast, With somewhat held between them heedfully. Oh, fast asleep! and yet methought she knew And felt my nearness those shut eyelids through. Those trees with blanched leaves stood pale and She sighed: my tears ran down for tenderness— stark. The trees had flower-buds, nourished in deep night, And suddenly, as I went farther in, They opened, and they shot out lambent light; Then all at once arose a railing din That frighted me: "It is the ghosts," I said, "And they are railing for their darkness fled. "I hope they will not look me in the face; It frighteth me to hear their laughter loud;" I saw them troop before with jaunty pace, And one would shake off dust that soiled her shroud: "And have I drawn thee to me in my sleep? Is it for me thou wanderest shelterless, Wetting thy steps in dewy grasses deep? Oh, if this be!" I said-" yet speak to me; I blame my very dream for cruelty." Then from her stainless bosom she did take Two beauteous lily flowers that lay therein, And with slow-moving lips a gesture make, As one that some forgotten words doth win: "They floated on the pool," methought she said, And water trickled from each lily's head It dropped upon her feet; I saw it gleam Along the ripples of her yellow hair, THE CHILD'S PORTRAIT. And stood apart, for only in a dream She would have come, methought, to meet me there. She spoke again-" Ah, fair! ah, fresh they shine! And there are many left, but these are mine." I answered her with flattering accents meet: "Love, they are whitest lilies e'er were blown." "And sayest thou so?" she sighed in murmurs sweet; "I have naught else to give thee now, mine own! For it is night. Then take them, love !" said she; "They have been costly flowers to thee-and me." While thus she said, I took them from her hand, And, overcome with love and nearness, woke; And overcome with ruth that she should stand Barefooted in the grass; that when she spoke, Her mystic words should take so sweet a tone, And of all names her lips should choose "my own." I rose, I journeyed, neared my home, and soon Beheld the spire peer out above the hill. It was a sunny harvest afternoon, When, by the churchyard-wicket standing still, I cast my eager eyes abroad to know If change had touched the scenes of long ago. I looked across the hollow; sunbeams shone Upon the old house with the gable-ends: "Save that the laurel-trees are taller grown, No change," methought, to its gray wall extends. What clear bright beams on yonder lattice shine! There did I some time talk with Eglantine." There, standing with my very goal in sight, I thought to dally with my own delight, Nor rush on headlong to my garnered weal, But taste the sweetness of a short delay, And for a little moment hold the bliss at bay. The church was open; it perchance might be That there to offer thanks I might essay, Or rather, as I think, that I might see The place where Eglantine was wont to pray. But so it was; I crossed that portal wide, And felt my riot joy to calm subside. The low depending curtains gently swayed, It seemed, save only for the rippling flow I found her place, the ancient oaken stall, I saw her prayer-book laid upon the seat, In fancy to her, finding it most sweet 637 To think how very oft, low kneeling there In her devout thoughts she had let me share, And set my graceless name in her pure prayer. My eyes were dazzled with delightful tears- I looked, and on the wall above my head, Ah, well! I would not overstate that woe, EGLANTINE. A MOTHER SHOWING THE PORTRAIT OF HER CHILD. LIVING child or pictured cherub Ne'er o'ermatched its baby grace; And the mother, moving nearer, Looked it calmly in the face; Then, with slight and quiet gesture, And with lips that scarcely smiled, Said, "A portrait of my daughter, When she was a child." Easy thought was hers to fathom, Nothing hard her glance to read, For it seemed to say, "No praises For this little child I need: If you see, I see far better, And I will not feign to care For a stranger's prompt assurance That the face is fair." Softly clasped and half extended, She her dimpled hands doth lay; So they doubtless placed them, saying, "Little one, you must not play." And while yet his work was growing, This the painter's hand hath shown, That the little heart was making Pictures of its own. Is it warm in that green valley, Vale of childhood, where you dwell? Is it calm in that green valley, Round whose bournes such great hills swell? Are there giants in the valley Giants leaving footprints yet? Are there angels in the valley? Tell me I forget. Answer, answer, for the lilies, Little one, o'ertop you much, And the mealy gold within them You can scarcely reach to touch. Oh, how far their aspect differs, Looking up and looking down! You lock up in that green valleyValley of renown! Are there voices in the valley, Lying near the heavenly gate? When it opens, do the harp-strings, Touched within, reverberate ? When, like shooting-stars, the angels To your couch at nightfall go, Are their swift wings heard to rustle? Tell me, for you know. Yes, you know-and you are silent; Sunny present! thus I read it, Are as lifetimes vague and vast; As a boon the kiss is granted: Baby mouth, your touch is sweet; Takes the love without the trouble From those lips that with it meet; Gives the love-0 pure! O tender!— Of the valley where it grows, But the baby heart receiveth MORE THAN IT BESTOWS. Comes the future to the present: "Ah!" she saith, "too blithe of mood; Why that smile which seems to whisper, 'I am happy-God is good!' God is good that truth eternal, Sown for you in happier years, I must tend it in my shadow, Water it with tears. "Ah, sweet present! I must lead thee Comes the future to the present: "Child," she saith, "and wilt thou rest? How long, child, before thy footsteps Fret to reach yon cloudy crest? Ah, the valley-angels guard it, So she speaks, but do not heed her, Little maid, with wondrous eyes, Not afraid, but clear and tender, Blue, and filled with prophecies; Thou for whom life's veil unlifted Hangs, whom warmest valleys fold, Lift the veil, the charm dissolveth, Climb, but heights are cold. There are buds that fold within them, Closed and covered from our sight, Many a richly-tinted petal, Never looked on by the light; Fain to see their shrouded faces, Sun and dew are long at strife, Till at length the sweet buds openSuch a bud is life. When the rose of thine own being Shall reveal its central fold, Thou shalt look within and marvel, Fearing what thine eyes behold; What it shows and what it teaches Are not things wherewith to part; Thorny rose that always costeth Beatings at the heart. Look in fear, for there is dimness; Once the Godhead deigned to die. Look in love, for He doth love it, And its tale is best of lore, Still humanity grows dearer, Being learned the more. Learn, but not the less bethink thee How that all can mingle tears; But his joy can none discover, Save to them that are his peers.. And that they whose lips do utter Language such as bards have sung; Lo! their speech shall be to many As an unknown tongue. Learn, that if to thee the meaning That are skilled to read thine own; III. "I, even I, am He that comforteth you."-ISAIAH li. 12. SWEET is the solace of Thy love, As a dear child to be. Though from the shadow of Thy peace Oft, in a dark and lonely place, Oh, there is nothing in the world E'en the dark times I dread the most, And when the pleasant morning dawns, I find Thee with me still. Then, in the secret of my soul, Though hosts my peace invade, Though through a waste and weary land My lonely way be made, Thou, even Thou, wilt comfort me : I need not be afraid. Still in the solitary place I would awhile abide, Till with the solace of Thy love IV. "The Lord blessed the seventh day, and hallowed it."-EXODUS XX. 11. BEAM on us brightly, blessed day; Dawn softly for our Saviour's sake, And waft thy sweetness o'er our way, To draw us heavenward when we wake. O holy life that shall not end- V. "The Lord is the portion of mine inheritance."PSALM XVI. 5. THOUGH Some good things of lower worth Of all the gifts in heaven and earth, The love of God in Christ made known- My soul's Restorer, let me learn Of which I am indeed possessed. Let me not dwell so much within My bounded heart with anxious heedWhere all my searches meet with sin, And nothing satisfies my need: It shuts me from the sound and sight Let me Thy power, Thy beauty see; Through paths of everlasting peace. I was not called to walk alone To clothe myself with love and light; And for Thy glory, not my own, My soul is precious in Thy sight. My evil heart can never be A home, a heritage for me But Thou canst make it fit for Thee. VI. "There is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother."--PROV. xviii. 24. WOULD that I were more closely bound To my Beloved, who ever lives! And much I wish-but I will pray More of Thy meek and quiet mind. Ah! my Beloved, who wilt not die, Whose spirit does not change with mine, Put doubts of my affection by, And make me free to sing of Thine. Thou art my life's restoring rest; In Thee for safety let me hide; |