And she can pour forth in such converse high,
All her soul's tide of love, the deep, the strong,
Oh! lonelier far, perchance, thy destiny,

And more forlorn, amidst the world's gay throng,
Than hers-the queen of that majestic gloom,
The tempest, and the desert, and the tomb!

THE PRAYER FOR LIFE.

O SUNSHINE and fair earth!

Sweet is your kindly mirth,

Angel of death! yet, yet awhile delay!

Too sad it is to part,

Thus in my spring of heart,

With all the light and laughter of the day.

For me the falling leaf

Touches no chord of grief,

No dark void in the rose's bosom lies:

Not one triumphal tone,

One hue of hope, is gone

From song or bloom beneath the summer skies.

Death, Death! ere yet decay,

Call me not hence away,

Over the golden hours no shade is thrown;

The poesy that dwells

Deep in green woods and dells,

Still to my spirit speaks of joy alone.

THE PRAYER FOR LIFE.

235

Yet not for this, O Death!

Not for the vernal breath

Of winds that shake forth music from the trees;

Not for the splendour given

To night's dark regal heaven,
Spoiler! I ask thee not reprieve for these.

But for the happy love
Whose light, where'er I rove,
Kindles all nature to a sudden smile,
Shedding on branch and flower

A rainbow-tinted shower

Of richer life-spare, spare me yet awhile.

Too soon, too fast thou'rt come!

Too beautiful is home,

A home of gentle voices and kind eyes!
And I the loved of all,

On whom fond blessings fall

From every lip-oh! wilt thou rend such ties?

Sweet sisters! weave a chain

My spirit to detain;

Hold me to earth with strong affection back:

Bind me with mighty love

Unto the stream, the grove,

Our daily paths-our life's familiar track.

Stay with me! gird me round!

Your voices bear a sound

Of hope-a light comes with you and departs;

Hush, my soul's boding swell,

That murmurs of farewell;

How can I leave this ring of kindest hearts?

Death! grave!—and are there those
That woo your dark repose

'Midst the rich beauty of the glowing earth?
Surely about them lies

No world of loving eyes

Leave me, oh! leave me unto home and hearth!

THE WELCOME TO DEATH.

THOU art welcome, O thou warning voice!
My soul hath pined for thee;

Thou art welcome as sweet sounds from shore
To wanderer on the sea.

I hear thee in the rustling woods,

In the sighing vernal airs;

Thou call'st me from the lonely earth,

With a deeper tone than theirs.

The lonely earth! Since kindred steps
From its green paths are fled,

A dimness and a hush have lain
O'er all its beauty spread.

The silence of the unanswering soul

Is on me and around;

My heart hath echoes but for thee,

Thou still, small, warning sound!

THE WELCOME TO DEATH.

237

Voice after voice hath died away,

Once in my dwelling heard;

Sweet household-name by name hath changed To grief's forbidden word!

From dreams of night on each I call,

Each of the far removed;

And waken to my own wild cry— "Where are ye, my beloved?"

Ye left me! and earth's flowers were dim
With records of the past:

And stars pour'd down another light

Than o'er my youth they cast:
Birds will not sing as once they sung,
When ye were at my side,

And mournful tones are in the wind,
Which I heard not till ye died!

Thou art welcome, O thou summoner!
Why should the last remain?

What eye can reach my heart of hearts,

Bearing in light again?

E'en could this be, too much of fear

O'er love would now be thrown

Away, away! from time, from change,
Once more to meet my own!

THE VICTOR.

"De tout ce qui t'aimoit n'est-il plus rien qui t'aime?"

MIGHTY ones, Love and Death!

Ye are the strong in this world of ours,

LAMARTINE.

Ye meet at the banquets, ye dwell 'midst the flowers, -Which hath the conqueror's wreath?

Thou art the victor, Love!

Thou art the fearless, the crown'd, the free,
The strength of the battle is given to thee,
The spirit from above!

Thou hast look'd on Death, and smiled!
Thou hast borne up the reed-like and fragile form,
Thro' the waves of the fight, thro' the rush of the storm,
On field, and flood, and wild!

No!-Thou art the victor, Death!

Thou comest, and where is that which spoke,
From the depths of the eye, when the spirit woke?
-Gone with the fleeting breath!

Thou comest-and what is left

Of all that loved us, to say if aught

Yet loves yet answers the burning thought
Of the spirit lone and reft?

Silence is where thou art!

Silently there must kindred meet,

No smile to cheer, and no voice to greet,
No bounding of heart to heart!