"But 't is over; yet I tremble
On what brink of fate I stand;
What prophetic bird of evil
Hovers o'er this sacred land!
What if true should come my dreaming,
And no more my love return!
Ah, the thought my heart's blood freezes,
While my brain with madness burns."
Then she listened, gazing outward
Toward a dim futurity-
And the Nile forever onward
Bears its burdens to the sea;
And she catches from its whispers
Echoing whispers in her soul-
That her reign of love is ended,
And her life is near its goal.
ACROSS the pathway, myrtle-fringed,
Under the maple, it was hinged -
The little wooden gate;
'Twas there within the quiet gloam,
When I had strolled with Nelly home,
I used to pause and wait
Before I said to her good-night,
Yet loath to leave the winsome sprite
Within the garden's pale;
And there, the gate between us two,
We'd linger as all lovers do,
And lean upon the rail.
And face to face, eyes close to eyes,
Hands meeting hands in feigned surprise,
After a stealthy quest, -
So close I'd bend, ere she 'd retreat,
That I'd grow drunken from the sweet
Tuberose upon her breast.
We'd talk-in fitful style, I ween
With many a meaning glance between
The tender words and low;
We'd whisper some dear, sweet conceit,
Some idle gossip we'd repeat,
And then I'd move to go.
Good-night," I'd say; "good-night-good-by!
Good-night "-from her with half a sigh-
Good-night!" "Good-night!" And then
And then I do not go, but stand,
Again lean on the railing, and -
Begin it all again.
Ah! that was many a day ago ·
That pleasant summer-time-
The gate is standing yet;
A little cranky, it may be,
A little weather-worn like me-
The happy- "End"? My cynic friend,
- there was no "end."
Pray save your sneers
Watch yonder chubby thing!
That is our youngest, hers and mine;
See how he climbs, his legs to twine
About the gate and swing.
Scribner's Magazine.
THE lazy, languid breezes sweep
Across a fluttered crowd of leaves;
The shadows fall so dim, so deep,
Ah, love, 't is good to dream and sleep
Where nothing jars or nothing grieves.
My love she lies at languid ease
Across her silken hammock's length;
Her stray curls flutter in the breeze
That moves amidst the sunlit trees,
And stirs their gold with mimic strength.
So calm, so still, the drowsy noon;
So sweet, so fair, the golden day;
Too sweet that it should turn so soon
From set of sun to rising moon,
And fade and pass away.
Her eyes are full of happy dreams,
And languid with unuttered bliss;
The calm of unstirred mountain streams,
The light of unforgotten scenes,
Live in her thoughts of that or this.
A year, a month, a week, a day;
The meaning of some look or word,
Swift, sudden as a sunbeam's ray, —
Do these across her memory stray
As if again she looked or heard?
It may be so. I would it were,
For I who love and she who dreams;
The world to me is only her.
Can my heart's cry to pity stir
Her heart that silent seems?
O deep eyes, lose your gentle calm;
O fair cheek, lose your tint of rose;
O heart, beat swift with love's alarm,
That I may win with chain and charm,
And hold you till life close.
Lo, sweet, I stand, and gaze and faint
Beneath the wonder of your eyes,
Whose beauty I can praise and paint
Till words and fancy lose restraint,
And fear forgotten dies.
A LOVER gave the wedding ring
Into the goldsmith's hand;
"Grave me," he said, "a tender thought
Within the golden band."
The goldsmith graved
With careful art,
"Till death us part."
The wedding bell rang gladly out;
The husband said, "O wife,
Together we shall share the grief,
The happiness of life.
I give to thee
My hand, my heart,
Till death us part."
'Twas she that lifted now his hand,
(O love, that this should be!)
Then on it placed the golden band,
And whispered tenderly:
"Till death us join,
Lo, thou art mine,
And I am thine.
"And when death joins, we nevermore Shall know an aching heart,
The bridal of that better love
Death has no power to part.
That troth will be,
For thee and me,
Eternity."
So up the hill and down the hill,
Through fifty changing years,
They shared each other's happiness,
They dried each other's tears.
Alas, alas,
That death's cold dart
Such love can part!
But one sad day—she stood alone
Beside his narrow bed;
She drew the ring from off her hand,
And to the goldsmith said:
"O man who graved
With careful art,
'Till death us part,'
"Now grave four other words for me,
'Till death us join.'
The precious golden band once more,
With solemn, wistful look,
And wrought with care,
For love, not coin,
"Till death us join."
HE stole from my bodice a rose,
My cheek was its color the while;
But, ah, the sly rogue! he well knows,
Had he asked it, I must have said no.
He snatched from my lips a soft kiss;
I tried at a frown—'t was a smile;
For, ah, the sly rogue! he knows this:
Had he asked it, I must have said no.
That "asking" in love 's a mistake,
It puts one in mind to refuse;
'Tis best not to ask, but to take;
For it saves one the need to say no.
this is folly I've said;
Some things should be asked if desired; My rogue hopes my promise to wed; When he asks me, I will not say no.
"I DARE not ask a kisse,
I dare not beg a smile,
Lest having that or this,
I might grow proud the while.
No, no, the utmost share
Of my desire shall be
Only to kisse the aire
That lately kissed thee."
HER eyes were bright and merry,
She danced in the mazy whirl;
She took the world in its sunshine,
For she was a frivolous girl.
She dressed like a royal princess,
She wore her hair in a curl;
The gossips said, "What a pity
That she's such a frivolous girl!
(TWENTY YEARS LATER.)
She's a wife, a mother, a woman,
Grand, noble, and pure as a pearl;
While the gossips say, "Would you think it,
Of only a frivolous girl?"
WHERE IGNORANCE IS BLISS.
Is love contagious?—I don't know;
But this I am prepared to say,
That I have felt for many a day
A great desire to make it so.
Does she vouchsafe a thought of me?
Sometimes I think she does; and then
I'm forced to grope in doubt again,
Which seems my normal state to be.
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