Not all alone; the lark's rich note,
As mounting up to heaven, she sings; The thousand silvery sounds that float
Above, below, on morning's wings; The softer murmurs twilight brings,The cricket's chirp, cicada's glee; All earth, that lyre of myriad strings, Is jubilant with life for thee!
Not all alone; the whispering trees,
The rippling brook, the starry sky,
Have each peculiar harmonies
To soothe, subdue, and sanctify:
The low, sweet breath of evening's sigh,
For thee hath oft a friendly tone,
To lift thy grateful thoughts on high,
And say-thou art not all alone!
Not all alone; a watchful Eye,
That notes the wandering sparrow's fall, A saving Hand is ever nigh,
A gracious Power attends thy call ;When sadness holds thy heart in thrall, Oft is His tenderest mercy shown; Seek then the balm vouchsafed to all, And thou canst never be alone!
"She half enclosed him with her arms,
She pressed him with a meek embrace,
And bending back her head, looked up,
And gazed upon his face."
SHE had been waiting for him, till her heart
Was stirred, almost to bursting, with the strife
Of hope and fear, the fondness and mistrust,
That only lovers know: and she had vowed
To chide her truant for his long delay;
To frown, look cold and stately as a queen;
Discourse of broken vows, dissevered ties;
And ask if men were faithless all, like him!
But, as she sat within her garden bower,
She heard the music of his well-known step;
And all her firm resolves, resentments, doubts,
The pride of slighted beauty, were dispelled,
As if those sounds had power to exorcise
All thoughts that did not minister to love!
And her eye caught the dancing of his plume,
'Mid the green branches, as he strode along;
Her quick ear drank his melody of voice,
As its sweet accents syllabled her name,
Till every echo round repeated it!
What should she do? Go hide her from his search;
Teach the gay laggard she too could be slow;
And bid him feel, in part, what she had felt,
To make their after-meeting more divine!
The fancy pleased her; and she fled before him,
Swift as a startled fawn, as graceful too;
Gained their accustomed trysting-place unseen,
And hid herself in sport behind the door;
Meaning to dart to his unconscious arms,
Just as his brow was gathering to a frown,
That she could break her promises like him.
She would have stilled the beating of her heart,
That she might catch the first, faint distant sounds
Of his approaching footsteps; but suspense
Lent it a wilder impulse, and its throbs
Grew momently more loud. She gasped for breath,
As the thick boughs that hid her summer haunt
Rustled, the latch was lifted, and the words,
"Margaret, dear Margaret!" in the faltering tones
Of one who seeks but scarce expects an answer,
Fell on her charméd ear.
She rushed towards him,
With all her sex's fervency and truth,
Its willing faith, devotedness of soul,—
Forgetful only of its proud reserve,—
And, twining round his neck her snowy arm,
Clung to his lips, as though the world and life
Had nothing for her half so sweet beside!
And, in the pauses of that wild embrace,
She breathed, in few and scarce articulate words,
The love shut up in her deep heart till then.
She had no thought that virtue might not own,
No guile to mask, no purpose to conceal;
So she poured forth the secrets of her soul
With all the frankness of a woman's love,
Who judges others by her own pure self.
And for the world,-what were its frowns to her,
Who held the all of wealth she wished her own,
In the small circle of her straining clasp.
Alas, alas, that woman's gentler feelings
Should ever be employed to work her woe!
That those deep impulses which, were they left
To take their natural course, must lead to bliss,
Should sometimes prove the ministers of ill,
And, swelling to a wild and stormy sea,
O'erwhelm the virtues they were meant to nourish.
They stood in deep entrancement, heart to heart,
With not a breath to break the hush around them,
Save the wild throbbings of each bounding breast,
Half-smothered sighs, and soft, low-murmured words,
That told an endless tale of love, and love!
It was a rich, bright, tranquil summer's eve;
The sun was resting on the horizon's verge;
The distant mountains wearing crowns of gold,
Like vassal kings arose to guard his throne;
And every object round appeared to grow
Instinct with softer beauty. On the breeze,
Through the half-open lattice, came the breath
The honeyed breath, of many a fragrant flower,
Closing its sweet eyes on day's farewell beam.
All things conspired to make those moments yield
A full repayment for the grief of years;-
And Faust had half forgot the doom that hung,
Like the huge avalanche a breath brings down,
O'er his devoted head; until a laugh,
A fiend-like laugh, a loud, harsh, bitter taunt,
As if in mockery of a bliss too pure
For evil spirits to behold unpained,
Recalled him to a sense of what he was,
And what he soon must be!
Were leering on them, shedding baleful light
On that sweet scene of more than mortal passion!
Another kiss-another, and another;-
When lo! the fiend grew clamorous that his dupe
Should dare resist his will, and burst upon him,
Dragging him forth from that bright paradise
To shades where he might tutor him in guile,
And bid him plan the ruin of a heart,
Whose only fault was loving him too well!
Alas, alas! that Man so oft should be
The slave of some dark, scheming fiend like this!
And, spirited by him to deeds of ill,
Should pay dear Woman's fond confiding truth,-
Blasting the beauty he was born to cherish,-
With falsehood, treachery, despair, and death!
"TWAS the genial month of flowers,
Merry May, when first we met;
Youth, and Hope, and Love were ours,
Love, and Hope are with us yet;-
Time, and Care defy the will,
But our hearts are spring-like still.
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