She touched my shoulder with fearful finger; She said, "We linger, we must not stay; My flock 's in danger, my sheep will wander; Behold them yonder, how far they stray!"
I answered bolder, "Nay, let me hear you, And still be near you, and still adore! No wolf nor stranger will touch one yearling— Ah! stay my darling a moment more!"
She whispered sighing, "There will be sorrow Beyond to-morrow, if I lose to-day; My fold unguarded, my flock unfolded- I shall be scolded and sent away!"
Said I replying, "If they do miss you,
They ought to kiss you when you get home; And well rewarded by friend and neighbor Should be the labor from which you come."
"They might remember," she answered meekly, "That lambs are weakly and sheep are wild; But if they love me it 's none so fervent— I am a servant and not a child."
Then each hot ember glowed quick within me, And love did win me to swift reply: "Ah! do but prove me, and none shall bind you, Nor fray nor find you until I die!"
She blushed and started, and stood awaiting, As if debating in dreams divine; But I did brave them-I told her plainly, She doubted vainly, she must be mine.
So we twin-hearted, from all the valley Did rouse and rally her nibbling ewes; And homeward drove them, we two together, Through blooming heather and gleaming dews.
That simple duty such grace did lend her, My Doris tender, my Doris true, That I her warder did always bless her, And often press her to take her due.
And now in beauty she fills my dwelling With love excelling, and undefiled;
And love doth guard her, both fast and fervent, No more a servant, nor yet a child.
The Exile to his Wife.
COME to me, darling, I'm lonely without thee; Day-time and night-time I'm dreaming about thee; Night-time and day-time in dreams I behold thee, Unwelcome the waking that ceases to fold thee. Come to me, darling, my sorrows to lighten; Come in thy beauty, to bless and to brighten; Come in thy womanhood, meekly and lowly; Come in thy lovliness, queenly and holy.
Swallows shall flit round the desolate ruin, Telling of Spring and its joyous renewing; As thoughts of thy love and its manifest treasure Are circling my heart with a promise of pleasure. O Spring of my heart! O May of my bosom! Shine out on my soul till it bourgeon and blossom. The waste of my life has a rose-root within it, And thy fondness alone to the sunshine can win it.
Figure which moves like a song through the even, Features lit up with a reflex of heaven, Eyes like the skies of poor Erin, our mother, Where sunshine and shadow are chasing each other; Smiles coming seldom, but childlike and simple; And opening their eyes from the heart of a dimple; O, thanks to the Saviour that even the seeming Is left to the exile, to brighten his dreaming.
You have been glad when you knew I was gladdened; Dear, are you sad now to hear I am saddened? Our hearts ever answer in tune and in time, love, As octave to octave, and rhyme unto rhyme, love; I cannot smile but your cheeks will be glowing; You cannot weep but my tears will be flowing; You will not linger when I shall have died, love; I could not live without you at my side, love.
Come to me, dear, ere I die of my sorrow; Rise on my gloom like the sun of to-morrow;
Come swift and strong as the words which I speak, love,
With a song on your lip and a smile on your cheek, love; Come, for my heart in your absence is dreary; Haste, for my spirit is sickened and weary;
Come to the arms which alone shall caress thee; Come to the heart that is throbbing to press thee.
BACKWARD, turn backward, O Time, in your flight,
Make me a child again just for to-night!
Mother, come back from the echoless shore, Take me again to your heart as of yore; Kiss from my forhead the furrows of care, Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair; Over my slumbers your loving watch keep;- Rock me to sleep, mother-rock me to sleep!
Backward, flow backward, O tide of the years! I am so weary of toil and of tears,— Toil without recompense, tears all in vain,— Take them, and give me my childhood again! I have grown weary of dust and decay,— Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away; Weary of sowing for others to reap ;- Rock me to sleep, mother, -rock me to sleep!
Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue, Mother, O mother, my heart calls for you! Many a summer the grass has grown green, Blossomed and faded, our faces between; Yet, with strong yearning and passionate pain, Long I to-night for your presence again; Come from the silence so long and so deep;- Rock me to sleep, mother,-rock me to sleep!
Over my heart, in the days that are flown, No love like mother-love ever has shone; No other worship abides and endures, Faithful, unselfish, and patient like yours; None like a mother can charm away pain From the sick soul and the world-weary brain : Slumber's soft calms o'er my heavy lids creep ;- Rock me to sleep, mother,―rock me to sleep!
Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold, Fall on your shoulders again as of old; Let it drop over my forehead to-night, Shading my faint eyes away from the light; For with its sunny-edged shadows once more Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore; Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep;― Rock me to sleep, mother,-rock me to sleep!
Mother, dear mother, the years have been long Since I last listened your lullaby song; Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem Womanhood's years have been only a dream; Clasped to your heart in a loving embrace, With your light lashes just sweeping my face, Never hereafter to wake or to weep;― Rock me to sleep, mother,―rock me to sleep! ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN.
ONLY a baby small,
Dropt from the skies; Only a laughing face,
Two sunny eyes; Only two cherry lips, One chubby nose; Only two little hands,
Ten little toes.
Only a golden head, Curly and soft;
Only a tongue that wags
Loudly and oft;
Only a little brain,
Empty of thought;
Only a little heart,
Troubled with nought.
Only a tender flower
Sent us to rear; Only a life to love
While we are here;
Only a baby small,
Never at rest;
Small, but how dear to us,
God knoweth best.
The Jolly Old Pedagogue.
'T WAS a jolly old pedagogue, long ago,
Tall and slender, and sallow, and dry; His form was bent, and his gait was slow, His long, thin hair was as white as snow;
But a wonderful twinkle shone in his eye,
« ՆախորդըՇարունակել » |