172

UPON THY STREAM, SWIFT-FLOWING.

Time-Time,

Take her in my rhyme!

She shall give my words to live,
Time! Time!

Still, in my dancing measure,
Her smiles and laughs to treasure,
Be thy divinest duty,

That all the future's leisure
May have unceasing pleasure,
With me, in her dear beauty.
Time-Time,

Take my sweetened rhyme!
Poorer, 'twere, how rich! through her;
Time! Time!

Yes, take her eyes, down-sweeping
Cold current, to thy keeping

For all the future's gazing,

That when they, closed, are sleeping,
Past life's short smiles and weeping,
They may have endless praising.
Time-Time,

Treasure thou my rhyme,

Rhyme of mine that makes her thine,
Time! Time!

With names thy flood is bearing,
With glories swiftly faring

For ever down thy flowing,
Let her sweet fame be sharing
Thy love the foolish caring
Thou art, on kings, bestowing.
Time-Time,

In my ringing rhyme,

Let her name live with all fame,
Time! Time!

HAUNTED.

WHO is it's teasing me!
Who is it's pleasing me!

Who is it's haunting my thoughts and my dreams!
There's one, by day and night,
Evermore in my sight,

No more to be from my presence, it seems.

Not a bad sprite, it is;
Not to affright, it is

Hovering before me, and in my eyes still;
Not a bad goblin 'tis,

Not for the world you'd kiss;

Never, with fits of fear, any 'twill fill.

No-not a fear to me,

No-but how dear to me,

Rather an angel it seems or a fay;
From gloom or sunny air,

Still looks that face so fair,

Sunning the night still and brightening the day.

O, spirit, grieve me not!

O, dear one, leave me not!

Smiling and tender, still float in my sight!
Never must we two part,

Angel that haunts my heart,

Ever day's dearest thought-best dream of night.

Or, if thou from me steal,
Thou whom I cannot feel,

Thou t'wards whom vainly these longing arms start,
Leave, this blest clasp to fill,

One who is dearer still,

She whose dear shadow, sweet phantom, thou art!

BEWARE!

SHUN the dimples of her cheek;
Flee the lustres of her eyes;
Fear to hear her softly speak;

More, to drink her honied sighs;
For who sees her, henceforth sees,
Night and day, but her for ever;
He who hears her, henceforth frees
His thoughts from her meshes, never;
Peace no more with you shall dwell
If you give her not farewell.

She is false, as she is fair;

Open dangers who'll not shun?
He who woos and wins despair,
He shall pity gain from none;
For her eyes the Gorgon's are
Which, if you but once are seeing,
Even a moment from afar,

Fixed you find, farewell to fleeing; Peace no more your days shall bless, Nor your nights sweet quietness. Striped the snake is-from it start; Dread her fairness while you may; She would mesh and mock your heart; She would with your passion play; Webs but tangle foolish flies;

Silly fish, the angler's snaring; In her, plain, your ruin lies,

Ruin that there's no repairing; Caught by her, you'll strive in vain Ever to be free again.

Face her not; less danger is

In the cannon's blazing breath

Than in eyes and smiles that kiss,

And then freeze you straight to death;

Sirens are they all that weave

Subtle webs, their prey to make us;

Won, they then no more deceive;

Toys that please no more, they break us;
Yet be saved, while yet you may;

Fling not peace, O heart, away.

AFTER A PLEASANT EVENING.

THE brighter the moments, the swifter they fly;
The sweeter the draught is, the quicker 'tis flowing

Ever;

'Mongst laughs, such as yours, how the moments fleet by, Winged by friendship and wit, O I never am knowing, Never,

Two companions, how different! old Time has by turns; And, as he's with either, just so is his speeding

Ever;

If Care is his fellow, Care's dull pace he learns;
If Mirth's flight he shares, never jogging he's needing,

Never.

Ah, if you would learn what, at times, is his pace,
Just mate him with Friendship and Love, for, old fellow,

Ever,

Never swifter he flies than when with them's his race, When joy laughs him on and when wine makes him mellow, Never.

But he pities us most when he seems least to heed
How he hurries the dearest of moments to leave us ;

Ever

If he frolics them from us with pitiless speed,
He never uncomforted cares so to grieve us,

Never.

For, in fact, if he speeds them so swiftly away

That they're not enjoyed half enough ere they have vanished,

Ever,

Yet their memory, to cheer us, he bids with us stay;
He has never the heart to see that from us banished,

Never.

176

FLOWERS IN THE CITY.

Then a health to old Time! may we all of us long In his best and his swiftest of moments be nigh him

Ever,

And never such meetings as this may we wrong
By losing their memories, bequeathed to us by him,
Never.

FLOWERS IN THE CITY.

QUIET children of the garden,

Nurtured by the gentle showers,
Gleams and shadows-tender flowers,
Never may the hard town harden
Me to what delights are ours
In your beauty, O ye flowers!

Have they torn you from your quiet
Shadowed haunts, so green and still,
Where delights your sweet hours fill,
Where the tawny bee runs riot
In your sweets at his wild will,
While his songs the glad hush fill!

Strange seem here your pleasant faces,
Strange your beauty meets us here,
Startling us to sudden fear
That of nature's pleasant places,

Sights, and sounds, and scenes, once dear,

Life has grown forgetful here.

Moiling on, alas! you find us,

Dulled to all that life should know,

Hardly knowing roses blow;

Well it is that you remind us

Nature blooms, while sad and slow,
From us here our lost years go.

Withered! ah, and we too wither
In these dim and leafless streets,
Where no glimpse of beauty meets
Our dulled hearts; oh, still come hither,