HELIOTROPE. How strong they are, those subtile spells Or, mingling with some olden strain, They come upon us unaware, A song, an odor, or a bird Evokes the spell and strikes the chord, I wandered but an hour ago, With lagging footsteps tired and slow, The summer twilight wrapped me round, The odor-stealing dews lay wet Upon the folded mossy vest It fell on beds of purple bloom, From whence arose the rare perfume Of dainty heliotrope; Which smote my heart with sudden power, My favorite scent, my favorite flower, In olden days of hope! Ah, me! the years have come and gone, Since that sunshiny hour, When, for the sake of hands that brought, Faint-scented blossoms! Long ago They spoke of love that day-to-night And wear no heliotrope. Between to-night and that far day And if before my paling face Only to-night that faint perfume THE CLOVER. SOME sings of the lily, and daisy, and rose, Of the flowers to a man with a heart in his breast I never set eyes on a clover-field now, Or fool round a stable, or climb in the mow, But my childhood comes back, just as clear and as plain As the smell of the clover I'm sniffin' again; And I wander away in a barefooted dream, Where I tangle my toes in the blossoms that gleam And so I love clover it seems like a part And lovingly nestle my face in its bloom, JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. THE VIOLET'S GRAVE. THE Woodland, and the golden wedge And there, beside a bit of hedge, So tender was its beauty, and I stooped, and yet withheld my hand- Now which was best? For spring will pass, On maiden's breast or in the grass, Where would you choose to die? FROM THE SICILIAN OF VICORTARI. THE LILY AND THE LINDEN. FAR away under skies of blue, In the pleasant land beyond the sea, Bathed with sunlight and washed with dew, Budded and bloomed the fleur-de-lis. Through mists of morning, one by one, She saw him rise o'er the rolling Rhine, Doth rule a realm like the fleur-de-lis? "The forest trembles before the breath, "The lotus wakes from its slumbers lone, And the spice-groves lay before my throne So hailed she vassals far and wide, Slow uprising o'er glade and glen, Its branches bent in the breezes free, But its roots were set in the hearts of men, Who gave their life to the linden-tree. "Speak, O seer of the mighty mien ! "Hear'st thou the wail of the winter wake? The storm-clouds fade from the murky air, But the lily lies buried beneath the snow! From the ice-locked Rhine to the western sea But the linden threatens to shadow all! Frowning down on the forest wide, Darkly loometh his giant form, Alone he stands in his kingly pride, And mocks at whirlwind and laughs at storm. "Speak, O sage of the mystic air! Answer, seer of the mighty mien ! Must all thy trees of the forest fair Fall at the feet of the linden green ?" "Wouldst thou the scroll of the future see? A worm is sapping the linden-tree, "For shame may come to the haughty crest, "Here, where the voice of the winter grieves, Bright was the gleam of the golden leaves, "Behind the clouds of the battle strife The glow of resurrection see! Lo! I proclaim a newer life, The truer birth of the fleur-de-lis!" Thus saith the seer of the mighty mien, Stewart's Quarterly. DR. FRED CROSBY. RAIN. MILLIONS of massive rain-drops They have danced on the house-tops, They were liquid like musicians PROMISE. THERE is a rainbow in the sky, NOTE.This quatrain was cut from the body of a poem which contained little else of worth, and the very title of which is now forgotten. WHAT THEY DREAMED AND SAID. ROSE dreamed she was a lily, Lily dreamed she was a rose; Robin dreamed he was a sparrow, What the owl dreamed no one knows. But they all woke up together As happy as could be. Said each one: "You 're lovely, neighbor, But I'm very glad I'm me.' THE WANDERER. UPON a mountain height, far from the sea, I found a shell; And to my listening ear this lonely thing Ever a tale of ocean seemed to tell. M. E. |