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Music, when soft voices die,
Woman's Griefs And Rewards.
Be satisfied; Something thou hast to bear through womanhood— Peculiar suffering answering to the sin; Some pang paid down for each new human life: Some weariness in guarding such a life— Some coldness from the guarded; some mistrust From those thou hast too well served ; from those beloved Too loyally, some treason; feebleness Within thy heart, and cruelty without; And pressures of an alien tyranny, With its dynastic reasons of larger bones, And stronger sinews. But go to! thy love Shall chant itself its own beatitudes. Afier its own life-working. A child's kiss, Set on thy sighing lips, and make thee glad: A poor man served by thee, shall make thee rich; An old man help'd by thee, shall make thee strong. Thou shalt be served thyself by every sense Of service which thou renderest.
E. B. Barrett.
Upon A MAID.
Here she lies in bed of spice,
The sadness of your greatness fits you well;
E. B. Browning.
Who wove his web
A Winter Scene.
Through the hush'd air the whitening shower descends
At first thin-wavering, till at last the flakes
Fall broad and wide, and fast, dimming the day
With a continual flow. The cherish'd fields
Put on their winter robe of purest white:
'Tis brightness all, save where the new snow melts
Along the mazy current. Low the woods
Bow their hoar head; and ere the languid sun,
Faint from the west, emits his evening ray;
Earth's universal face, deep hid, and chill,
Is one wide dazzling waste, that buries wide
The works of man. Drooping, the labourer-ox
Stands cover'd o'er with snow, and then demands
The fruit of all his toil.
Goddess, I do love a girl
A BIRD AT SUNSET.
Wild bird, that wingest wide the glimmering moors,
What pausing sunset thy wild heart allures
Would that my heart, on wings like thine, could pass
A happy shadow o'er the warm brown grass,
Hast thou, like me, some true-love of thine own,
In fairy lands beyond the utmost seas; Who there, unsolaced, yearns for thee alone,
And sings to silent trees?
O tell that woodbird that the summer grieves, 4
And, tell her, love will fade with fading leaves,
Fly from the winter of the world to her!
Fly, happy bird! I follow in thy flight, Till thou art lost o'er yonder fringe of fir
In baths of crimson light.
My love is dying far away from me.
She sits and saddens in the fading west. For her I mourn all day, and pine to be
At night upon her breast.
Most glorious art thou! when from thy pavilion
VOL. V. H
Brightening the mountain cataract, dimly spied
And more magnificent art thou, bright sun,
Uprising from the Ocean's billowy bed!
Who that has seen thee thus, as I have done,
Can e'er forget the eflulgent splendours spread
From thy emerging radiance? Upward sped
Even to the centre of the vaulted sky.
Thy beams pervade the heavens, and o'er them shed
Hues indescribable—of gorgeous dye,
Making among the clouds mute glorious pageantry.
LIFE IN ITALY.
I Took up the old days
Each flight they take: and fire-flies that suspire
In short lapses of transported flame
Across the tingling Dark, while overhead
The constant and inviolable stars
Outburn those lights-of-love: melodious owls
(If music had but one note and was sad,
'Twould sound just so), and all the silent swirl
Of bats, that seem to follow in the air
Some grand circumference of a shadowy dome
To which we are blind: and then, the nightingales,
Which pluck our heart across a garden-wall
(When walking in the town), and carry it
So high into the bowery almond-trees,
We tremble and are afraid, and feel as if
The golden flood of moonlight unaware
Dissolved the pillars of the steady earth
And made it less substantial. And I knew
The harmless opal snakes, and large mouth'd frogs
(Those noisy vaunters of their shallow streams),
And lizards, the green lightnings of the wall,
Which, if you sit down still, nor sigh too loud,
Will flatter you and take you for a stone,
And flash familiarly about your feet
With such prodigious eyes in such small heads !—
I knew them, though they had somewhat dwindled from
My childish imagery,—and kept in mind
How last I sat among them equally,
In fellowship and mateship, as a child
Will bear him still toward insect, beast and bird,
Before the Adam in him has foregone
All privilege of Eden,—making friends
And talk with such a bird or such a goat,
And buying many a two-inch-wide rush-cage
To let out the caged cricket on a tree,
Saying, "Oh, my dear grillino, were you cramp'd?
And are you happy with the ilex-leaves?
And do you love me who have let you go?
Say yes, in singing, and I'll understand."
But now the creatures all seem'd further off",
No longer mine, nor like me; only there,
A gulf between us. I could yearn indeed,
Like other rich men, for a drop of dew
To cool this heat,—a drop of the early dew,
The irrecoverable child-innocence