« ZurückWeiter »
But the berried ivy catches and cleaves To the limbs that glitter, the feet that
scare The wolf that follows, the fawn that
Where shall we find her, how shall we
sing to her, Fold our hands round her knees, and
cling? O that man's heart were as fire and
could spring to her Fire, or the strength of the streams
that spring! For the stars and the winds are unto her As raiment, as songs of the harp-player; For the risen stars and the fallen cling
to her, And the south west-wind and the west
wind sing. For winter's rains and ruins are over,
And all the season of snows and sins; The days dividing lover and lover, The light that loses, the night that
wins; And time remembered is grief forgotten, And frosts are slain and flowers begotten, And in green underwood and cover
Blossom by blossom the spring begins. The full streams feed on flower of rushes,
Ripe grasses trammel a travelling foot, The faint fresh flame of the young
From leaf to flower and flower to fruit; And fruit and leaf are as gold and fire, And the oat is heard above the lyre, And the hoofèd heel of a satyr crushes The chestnut-husk at the chestnut
root. And Pan by noon and Bacchus by night,
Fleeter of foot than the fleet-foot kid, Follows with dancing and fills with de
light The Mænad and the Bassarid; And soft as lips that laugh and hide The laughing leaves of the trees divide, And screen from seeing and leave in
sight The god pursuing, the maiden hid. The ivy falls with the Bacchanal's hair
Over her eyebrows hiding her eyes; The wild vine slipping down leaves bare
Her brightbreastshorteningintosighs; The wild vine slips with the weight of
FROM "THE GARDEN OF
PROSERPINE." PALE, beyond porch and portal,
Crowned with calm leaves, she stands Who gathers all things mortal
With cold immortal hands;
From many times and lands.
She waits for all men born;
The life of fruits and corn;
And flowers are put to scorn.
The old loves with wearier wings;
And all disastrous things;
Red strays of ruined springs.
And joy was never sure;
Time stoops to no man's lure;
Weeps that no loves endure.
From hope and fear set free, We thank with brief thanksgiving
Whatever gods may be That no life lives for ever; That dead men rise up never; That even the weariest river
Winds somewhere safe to sea.
Then star nor sun shall waken,
Nor any change of light: Nor sound of waters shaken,
Nor any sound or sight: Nor wintry leaves nor vernal, Nor days nor things diurnal; Only the sleep eternal
In an eternal night.
THE tree many-rooted
That swells to the sky
The life-tree am I;
my leaves : ye shall live and not die.
The storm-winds of ages
Blow through me and cease,
The spring-wind of peace,
tresses, ere one of my blossoms
All shadows and lights
And stream-riven heights, Whose tongue is the wind's tongue and
language of storm-cloudson earth
All works of all hands
Of time-stricken lands,
all ruins, drop through me
And more than ye know,
But only to grow,
above me or deathworms below. These too have their part in me,
As I too in these;
Such sap is this tree's,
secrets of infinite lands and of
But the Gods of your fashion
That take and that give,
That scourge and forgive,
bark that falls off; they shall die and not live.
My own blood is what stanches
The wounds in my bark;
Make day of the dark,
rise shall tread out their fires as a spark.
Where dead ages hide under
The live roots of the tree,
Makes utterance of me;
other ye hear the waves sound of the sea.
In the spring-colored hours
When my mind was as May's,
By centuries of days,
hood, shot out from my spirit as
And smell of their shoots
And strength to my roots;
fect with freedom of soul were
That noise is of Time,
As his feathers are spread
Through the boughs overhead, And my foliage rings round him and
rustles, and branches are bent with his tread.
1838–1861. (BORN Jan. 29, 1838, at Duntiblae, a small village on the banks of the Luggie, about eight miles from Glasgow. Son of a weaver. Educated in part at Glasgow University, for the Christian ministry, but abandoned it for literary pursuits, and betook himself at an early age to writing verses, many of which appeared from time to time in The Glasgow Citizen, under the nom de plume of "Will Gurney.' In 1860 he determined to go to London, hoping to attain literary eminence in the great metropolis, where he arrived in the month of May, without friends or means of subsistence. He attracted the favorable notice of several men of letters, who gave him some literary employment and otherwise befriended him, but soon fell ill with pulmonary disease, and was sent back to Merkland, where his parents were then living. He struggled with the disease till the third of December, 1861, when he passed away. His poems, The Luggie, and Other Poems, were published shortly after his death by Macmillan & Co., with a Memoir by James Hedderwick, and a Prefatory Notice by R. M. Milnes, M.P.]
Thy beauty changing with the changeHOMESICK.
Thy beauty constant to the constant COME to me, O my Mother! come to
change? me, Thine own son slowly dying far away! Through the moist ways of the wide
DIE DOWN, O DISMAL DAY. By great invisible winds, come stately Die down, O dismal day, and let me ships
live; To this calm bay for quiet anchorage; And come, blue deeps, magnificently They come, they rest awhile, they go
With colored clouds, - large, light, and But, O my Mother, never comest thou!
fugitive, The snow is round thy dwelling, the By upper winds through pompous mowhite snow,
tions blown. That cold soft revelation pure as light, Now it is death in life, - à vapor dense And the pine-spire is mystically fringed, Creeps round my window, till I cannot Laced with incrusted silver. Here — ah me!
The far snow-shining mountains, and The winter is decrepit, under-born,
the glens A leper with no power but his disease. Shagging the mountain-tops. O God! Why am I from thee, Mother, far from
make free thee?
This barren shackled earth, so deadly Far from the frost enchantment, and the cold, woods
Breathe gently forth thy spring, till Jewelled from bough to bough? O
winter flies home, my home!
In rude amazement, fearful and yet O river in the valley of my home,
bold, With mazy-winding motion intricate, While she performs her customed charTwisting thy deathless music underneath ities; The polished ice-work, — must I never- I weigh the loaded hours till life is
bare, Behold thee with familiar eyes, and O God, for one clear day, a snowdrop, watch
and sweet air!
HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON.
1840(BORN at Plymouth, Jan. 18, 1840. Educated in France, England, and Franco-Germany: Entered the Civil Service in 1856, appointed to a clerkship in the Board of Trade, where he still continues. Has contributed to most of the leading English periodicals, Cornhill, Blackwood, Good Words, etc. In 1873, collected his scattered Lyrics in a volume entitled Vignettes in Rhyme, and Vers de Société. It was followed by Proverbs in Porcelain, 1877; republished by Holt & Co. in this country in 1880. He was one of the contributors to Ward's English Poets, 1880, supplying the critical sketches of Prior, Praed,
Gay, and Hood. He is also the author of a life of Fielding in English Men of Letters, edited by John Morley, and has recently edited a selection from Cowper's letters for the Parchment Library.]
MRS. HARRIET E. HAMILTON KING.
1840(DAUGHTER of the late Admiral W. A. B. Hamilton, and Lady Harriet Hamilton, sister to the Duke of Abercorn. Born in 1840, and in 1863 married Mr. Henry S. King, the banker and publisher. Author of Aspromonte, 1869; The Disciples; Book of Dreams, 1883.]
A DREAM MAIDEN. My baby is sleeping overhead,
And the youth in my blood moves My husband is in the town ;
sweetly In my large white bed uncurtained, As my pulses fall and rise. All alone I lay me down.
I lie so peaceful and lonely,
A maiden in spirit-land, And dreamily I have said my prayers, With the moonbeams in at the window, And dreamily closed my eyes,
And hand laid close to hand,