THE CHILD'S RETURN FROM THE WOODLANDS. 209

Thou know'st not the sweetness, by antique song
Breathed o'er the names of that flowery throng;
The woodbine, the primrose, the violet dim,
The lily that gleams by the fountain's brim;
These are old words, that have made each grove
A dreaming haunt for romance and love—
Each sunny bank, where faint odours lie,
A place for the gushings of poesy.

Thou know'st not the light wherewith fairy lore
Sprinkles the turf and the daisies o'er ;
Enough for thee are the dews that sleep,
Like hidden gems, in the flower-urns deep;
Enough the rich crimson spots that dwell
'Midst the gold of the cowslip's perfumed cell;
And the scent by the blossoming sweetbriers shed,
And the beauty that bows the wood-hyacinth's head.

Oh! happy child, in thy fawn-like glee,

What is remembrance or thought to thee?
Fill thy bright locks with those gifts of spring,
O'er thy green pathway their colours fling;
Bind them in chaplet and wild festoon--
What if to droop and to perish soon?

Nature hath mines of such wealth-and thou
Never wilt prize its delights as now!

For a day is coming to quell the tone
That rings in thy laughter, thou joyous one!
And to dim thy brow with a touch of care,
Under the gloss of its clustering hair;

VOL. VI.

And to tame the flash of thy cloudless eyes
Into the stillness of autumn skies;

And to teach thee that grief hath her needful part, 'Midst the hidden things of each human heart.

Yet shall we mourn, gentle child! for this?
Life hath enough of yet holier bliss!
Such be thy portion !—the bliss to look,
With a reverent spirit, through nature's book;
By fount, by forest, by river's line,

To track the paths of a love divine;
To read its deep meanings-to see and hear
God in earth's garden-and not to fear!

THE FAITH OF LOVE.

THOU hast watch'd beside the bed of death,

Oh, fearless human Love!

Thy lip received the last faint breath,

Ere the spirit filed above.

Thy prayer was heard by the parting bier,

In a low and farewell tone,

Thou hast given the grave both flower and tear—Oh, Love! thy task is done.

Then turn thee from each pleasant spot
Where thou wert wont to rove,

For there the friend of thy soul is not,

Nor the joy of thy youth, oh, Love!

THE FAITH OF LOVE.

Thou wilt meet but mournful memory there,
Her dreams in the grove she weaves,
With echoes filling the summer air,

With sighs the trembling leaves.

Then turn thee to the world again,
From those dim haunted bowers,

And shut thine ear to the wild sweet strain
That tells of vanish'd hours.

And wear not on thine aching heart

The image of the dead,

For the tie is rent that

gave thee part

In the gladness its beauty shed.

And gaze on the pictured smile no more
That thus can life outlast:

All between parted souls is o'er ;-
-Love! Love! forget the past!

"Voice of vain boding! away, be still!
Strive not against the faith

That yet my bosom with light can fill,
Unquench'd, and undimm'd by death:

"From the pictured smile I will not turn,
Though sadly now it shine;

Nor quit the shades that in whispers mourn
For the step once link'd with mine:

"Nor shut mine ear to the song of old, Though its notes the pang renew,

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-Such memories deep in my heart I hold,
To keep it pure and true.

"By the holy instinct of my heart,
By the hope that bears me on,
I have still my own undying part
In the deep affection gone.

'By the presence that about me seems
Through night and day to dwell,
Voice of vain bodings and fearful dreams!
-I have breathed no last farewell!"

THE SISTER'S DREAM.

[Suggested by a picture, in which a young girl is represented as sleeping, and visited during her slumbers by the spirits of her departed sisters.]

SHE sleeps!-but not the free and sunny sleep
That lightly on the brow of childhood lies:
Though happy be her rest, and soft, and deep,
Yet, ere it sunk her shadow'd eyes,

upon

Thoughts of past scenes and kindred graves o'erswept Her soul's meek stillness-she had pray'd and wept.

And now in visions to her couch they come,
The early lost-the beautiful-the dead-
That unto her bequeath'd a mournful home,
Whence with their voices all sweet laughter fled;
They rise-the sisters of her youth arise,
As from the world where no frail blossom dies.

THE SISTER'S DREAM.

213

And we'l the sleeper knows them not of earth--Not as they were when binding up the flowers, Telling wild legends round the winter-hearth, Braiding their long fair hair for festal hours; These things are past a spiritual gleam,

A solemn glory, robes them in that dream.

Yet, if the glee of life's fresh budding years
In those pure aspects may no more be read,
Thence, too, hath sorrow melted-and the tears
Which o'er their mother's holy dust they shed,
Are all effaced; there earth hath left no sign
Save its deep love, still touching every line.

But, oh! more soft, more tender, breathing more A thought of pity, than in vanish'd days: While, hovering silently and brightly o'er

The lone one's head, they meet her spirit's gaze With their immortal eyes, that seem to say, "Yet, sister, yet we love thee-come away!"

'Twill fade, the radiant dream! and will she not Wake with more painful yearning at her heart? Will not her home seem yet a lonelier spot,

Her task more sad, when those bright shadows part? And the green summer after them look dim, And sorrow's tone be in the bird's wild hymn?

But let her hope be strong, and let the dead
Visit her soul in heaven's calm beauty still,
Be their names utter'd, be their memory spread
Yet round the place they never more may fill!