THRENODIA

GONE, gone from us! and shall we see
Those sibyl-leaves of destiny,

Those calm eyes, nevermore?

Those deep, dark eyes so warm and bright,
Wherein the fortunes of the man
Lay slumbering in prophetic light,
In characters a child might scan?
So bright, and gone forth utterly!
Oh stern word— Nevermore !

The stars of those two gentle eyes Will shine no more on earth;

Quenched are the hopes that had their birth, As we watched them slowly rise,

Stars of a mother's fate;

And she would read them o'er and o'er,

Pondering, as she sate,

Over their dear astrology,

Which she had conned and conned before,

Deeming she needs must read aright

What was writ so passing bright.

And yet, alas! she knew not why,
Her voice would falter in its song,
And tears would slide from out her eye,
Silent, as they were doing wrong.
Oh stern word Nevermore!

The tongue that scarce had learned to claim

An entrance to a mother's heart

By that dear talisman, a mother's name,
Sleeps all forgetful of its art!

I loved to see the infant soul
(How mighty in the weakness
Of its untutored meekness!)
Peep timidly from out its nest,
His lips, the while,

Fluttering with half-fledged words,
Or hushing to a smile

That more than words expressed,

When his glad mother on him stole

And snatched him to her breast!

Oh, thoughts were brooding in those eyes,
That would have soared like strong-winged birds

Far, far into the skies,

Gladding the earth with song,

And gushing harmonies,

Had he but tarried with us long!

Those small, white hands that ne'er were still before,

But ever sported with his mother's hair,

Or the plain cross that on her breast she wore!

Her heart no more will beat

To feel the touch of that soft palm,
That ever seemed a new surprise

Sending glad thoughts up to her eyes

To bless him with their holy calm,

Sweet thoughts! they made her eyes as sweet. How quiet are the hands

That wove those pleasant bands!

But that they do not rise and sink

With his calm breathing, I should think

That he were dropped asleep.

Alas! too deep, too deep

Is this his slumber!

Time scarce can number

The years ere he shall wake again.

Oh, may we see his eyelids open then!
Oh stern word - Nevermore !

As the airy gossamere,
Floating in the sunlight clear,
Where'er it toucheth clingeth tightly,
Round glossy leaf or stump unsightly,
So from his spirit wandered out
Tendrils spreading all about,
Knitting all things to its thrall
With a perfect love of all :
Oh stern word— Nevermore !

He did but float a little way Adown the stream of time,

With dreamy eyes watching the ripples play,

Or hearkening their fairy chime;

His slender sail

Ne'er felt the gale;

He did but float a little way,

And, putting to the shore

While yet 't was early day,
Went calmly on his way,
To dwell with us no more!
No jarring did he feel,

No grating on his shallop's keel;
A strip of silver sand

Mingled the waters with the land

Where he was seen no more :

Full short his journey was; no dust
Of earth unto his sandals clave;
The weary weight that old men must,
He bore not to the grave.

He seemed a cherub who had lost his way
And wandered hither, so his stay

With us was short, and 't was most meet
That he should be no delver in earth's clod,

Nor need to pause and cleanse his feet
To stand before his God:

Oh blest word - Evermore!

THE SIRENS

THE sea is lonely, the sea is dreary,
The sea is restless and uneasy;
Thou seekest quiet, thou art weary,
Wandering thou knowest not whither; -
Our little isle is green and breezy,
Come and rest thee! Oh come hither,

Come to this peaceful home of ours,
Where evermore

The low west-wind creeps panting up the shore
To be at rest among the flowers;

Full of rest, the green moss lifts,

As the dark waves of the sea Draw in and out of rocky rifts, Calling solemnly to thee

With voices deep and hollow,"To the shore

Follow! Oh, follow!

To be at rest forevermore!
Forevermore!"

Look how the gray old Ocean
From the depth of his heart rejoices,
Heaving with a gentle motion,

When he hears our restful voices;
List how he sings in an undertone,
Chiming with our melody;

And all sweet sounds of earth and air
Melt into one low voice alone,

That murmurs over the weary sea,

And seems to sing from everywhere,

"Here mayst thou harbor peacefully,
Here mayst thou rest from the aching oar;
Turn thy curved prow ashore,

And in our green isle rest forevermore !
Forevermore!"

And Echo half wakes in the wooded hill,

And, to her heart so calm and deep,
Murmurs over in her sleep,