Ever with restless, wretched heart, She harks for a footstep at the door, Her fault? O Benjie, and could you steel Your thoughts towards one who loved you so?Solace she seeks in the whirling wheel, In duty and love that lighten woe; Striving with labor, not in vain, To drive away the dull day's dreariness,Blessing the toil that blunts the pain Of a deeper grief in the body's weariness. Proud and petted and spoiled was she: In the great, gay city grows estranged: Now father and mother have long been dead, And the bride sleeps under a churchyard stone, And a bent old man with a grizzled head Walks up the long dim aisle alone. Years blur to a mist; and Dorothy Sits doubting betwixt the ghost she seems, And the phantom of youth, more real than she, That meets her there in that haunt of dreams. Bright young Dorothy, idolized daughter, That sets on a world of withered leaves! Yet faithfulness in the humblest part Is better at last than proud success, And patience and love in a chastened heart Are pearls more precious than happiness; And in that morning when she shall wake To the spring-time freshness of youth again, All trouble will seem but a flying flake, And lifelong sorrow a breath on the pane. JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE. THE NUN AND HARP. WHAT memory fired her pallid face, What passion stirred her blood, What tide of sorrow and desire Poured its forgotten flood Upon a heart that ceased to beat, Long since, with thought that life was sweet, When nights were rich with vernal dusk, And the rose burst its bud? Had not the western glory then Stolen through the latticed room, Her funeral raiment would have shed Bright with her blush and bloom! Beside the gilded harp she stood, And through the singing strings Wound those wan hands of folded prayer In murmurous preludings. Then, like a voice, the harp rang high Ah, why, of all the songs that grow Chose she that passionate refrain Of wassailers that round them pass Slowly the western ray forsook A sense of tears thrilled all the air Earth seemed a place of graves that rang And I will pledge with mine!" HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD. FIDELITY IN DOUBT. COME, lady, to my song incline, The last that shall assail thine ear. And scarce thou feign'st thyself therewith delighted! Nor know I well if I am loved or slighted; In every deed, if cause appear, To any deed; and I, when most benighted From the French of GUIRAUD LE ROUX. FAITH BETTER trust all and be deceived, And weep that trust and that deceiving, O, in this mocking world too fast The doubting fiend o'ertakes our youth; Than lose the blessed hope of truth. FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE, II. PARTING AND ABSENCE. PARTING. Ir thou dost bid thy friend farewell, How canst thou tell how far from thee Fate or caprice may lead his steps ere that to-mor row comes? Men have been known to lightly turn the corner of a street, And days have grown to months, and months to lagging years, Ere they have looked. in loving eyes again. With tears and pain. Therefore, lest sudden death should come between, Or time, or distance, clasp with pressure firm The hand of him who goeth forth; Unseen, Fate goeth too. Yes, find thou always time to say some earnest word Between the idle talk, Lest with thee henceforth, Night and day, regret should walk. COVENTRY PATVORE |