Excerpt
CROWS. THEY stream across the fading western skyA sable cloud, far o'er the lonely leas;Now parting into scattered companies,Now closing up the broken ranks, still highAnd higher yet they mount, while, carelessly,Trail slow behind, athwart the moving treesA lingering few, 'round whom the evening breezePlays with sad whispered murmurs as they fly. A lonely figure, ghostly in the dimAnd darkening twilight, lingers in the shadeOf bending willows: "Surely God has laidHis curse on me," he moans, "my strength of limbAnd old heart-courage fail me, and I fleeBowed with fell terror at this augury."
FUTURITY. WHAT of our life when this frail flesh lies lowA withered clod, and the free soul has burstThrough the world-fetters? Not of souls accursedWith cherished lusts that mar them, those who sowEvil and reap the harvest, and who bowAt Mammon's golden shrine, but those who thirstFor Truth, and see not,—spirits deep immersedIn doubt and trouble,—hearts that fain would know? The soul is satisfied. The spirit trainedFor the divine, because the beautiful,Now with the body gone, free and unstained,Doubts swept away like clouds of scattering woolBefore a blast,—e'er Heaven's pure paths are trodIs perfected to understand its God.
THERE IS NO GOD. THERE is no God? If one should stand at noonWhere the glow rests, and the warm sunlight plays,Where earth is gladdened by the cordial raysAnd blossoms answering, where the calm lagoonGives back the brightness of the heart of June,And he should say: "There is no sun"—the day'sFair shew still round him,—should we lose the blazeAnd warmth, and weep that day has gone so soon? Nay, there would be one word, one only thought,"The man is blind!" and throbs of pitying scornWould rouse the heart, and stir the wondering mind.We feel, and see, and therefore know,—the mornWith blush of youth ne'er left us till it broughtPromise of full-grown day. "The man is blind!"
DISAPPOINTMENT. THE light has left the hill-side. YesterdayThese skies shewed blue against the dusky trees,The leaves' soft murmur in the evening breezeWas music, and the waves danced in the bay.Then was my heart, as ever, far awayWith you,—and I could see you as one seesA mirrored face,—and happiness and easeAnd hope were mine, in spite of long delay. After these months of waiting, this is all!Hope, dead, lies coffined, shrouded in despair,With all the blessings of the outer airForgot, 'neath the black covering of a pall.Only the darkening of the woodland ways,A heart's low moaning over wasted days.
A SHADOW. THE world to-day is radiant, as I ne'erCould picture it in wildest dreaming, whenFor long, long hours I lay in flowery glenOr wooded copse, and tried in vain to tearThe glamour from my eyes, and face the glareAnd tumult of the busy world of men.I staked my all, and won! and ne'er againCan my blest spirit know a heart's despair. And yet—and yet—why should it be that now,When all my heart has longed for is at lastWithin my grasp, and I should be at rest,A ghostly Something rising in the glowOf Love's own fire, an uninvited guest,Taunts me with just one memory of the past!
TRIUMPH. THE sky, grown dull through many waiting days,Flashed into crimson with the sunrise charm,So all my love, aroused to vague alarm,Flushed into fire and burned with eager blaze.I saw thee not as suppliant, with still gazeOf pleading, but as victor,—and thine armGathered me fast into embraces warm,And I was taught the light of Love's dear ways....