THE sweet pure mother, wearing through the dust
Her heaven-white garment of fresh Christian love
Silent about her, while her patient trust
O'er cloudland sings —one sunlit bird above
Through twilight's hushing gold bends sweet and lowly
Down on her little children, making prayers
Grow in their hearts, while their low voices slowly
Send little angels heavenward unawares :
So Nature, a sweet mother, o'er us bends,
Through this dim eve of an eternal day ;
Whispers love-words, till gushing light ascends,—
Prayer's hidden fountain in the heart that lay;
And heaven's mild dew into our dream descends,
While, flame-like, close tired eyes, waiting morn's golden ray.
HASTEN, Soft wind, and when amid the gay
She moves with eyes of calm and tender light,
And forehead pale as foam-lit waves at night,
And voice harmonious as the warbling lay
Of birds that usher in the fragrant May,
Whisper, soft wind, that she remains the bright
Pure empress of this heart, whose sole delight
Is thus to muse on moments past away;
O, whisper this and tell how little I
Have known of joy since last I saw her face,
How the bright stars, lamps of yon changing sky,
Woods, streams, and every secret place,
Bear witness to my truth; yes, murmur this, then die On those fair lips, bright opening buds of grace.
Now tripping forth, the fairy-footed Spring
Awakens bud and bloom, and, liberal, fills
The air with balm, mantling the sunny hills
With living green. The purple martins wing
Their wheeling course, and, twittering sharply, sing
In treble notes a strange and keen delight;
And as they upward soar in airy flight,
Shrill through the sapphire arch their pæans ring.
O sweetheart mine! shall I unfold the theme
Bird, bud, and blossom teach our swelling hearts?
Thy tell-tale blush replies! Nor idle deem
Nor slight the lesson Nature thus imparts,
While even Zephyr from his flight above,
Stooping to kiss thy cheek, sighs tenderly of Love!
NAY, chide me not that I am jealous, love;
For in my doting fondness I am grown
A very miser of the beauties thrown
Profusely round thee from the gods above:
I'm even jealous of the pliant glove
Embracing oft thy slight and fairy hand,
And of sly Zephyr, with his whisper bland,
Who steals a-wooing from the budding grove,
And dallies o'er thy cheek with soft caress,
And of the ray that trembles as it glows Upon thy fresh lips' loveliness;
For that dear hand I would with mine enclose,
And lip and cheek I would were mine alone,
And mine the only heart that thou wouldst wish to own.
COME, dear one, smile consent! Thy fair young brow
Was never arched for stern Denial's frown.
Could angels glance like April sunbeams down
From their high thrones, where burning splendors glow,
To this cold sphere, cloud-mantled, far below,
As April suns awake the budding flower,
And from its sweet cup quaff the dropping shower, Warmed by their breath would young Love's roses glow, From Feeling's flushing cheek they'd kiss the tear, And words of comfort to the worn heart tell; And art not thou, my life, their sister dear? Then in thy soul let kindred kindness dwell, – Unfold the wings stretched o'er thy bosom fair And let my wearied spirit nestle there!
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