« AnteriorContinuar »
XIV. “ He will kiss me on the mouth Then, and lead me as a lover
Through the crowds that praise his deeds ;
And, when soul-tied by one troth, Unto him I will discover
That swan's nest among the reeds."
“Myself will to my darling be
The girl, in rock and plain,
To kindle or restrain.
Tied the bonnet, donned the shoe, And went homeward, round a mile, Just to see, as she did daily,
What more eggs were with the two.
“She shall be sportive as the fawn That wild with glee across the lawn
Or up the mountain springs ; And hers shall be the breathing balm, And hers the silence and the calm,
Of mute insensate things.
“The floating clouds their state shall lend To her ; for her the willow bend ;
Nor shall she fail to see E'en in the motions of the storm Grace that shall mould the maiden's form
By silent sympathy.
Pushing through the elm-tree copse, Winding up the stream, light-hearted,
Where the osier pathway leads,
Past the boughs she stoops — and stops.
Sooth I know not! but I know
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.
“The stars of midnight shall be dear To her; and she shall lean her ear
In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound
Shall pass into her face.
“And vital feelings of delight
Her virgin bosom swell ;
Here in this happy dell."
Hearest thou voices on the shore,
But neither household cares, nor yet That our ears perceive no more,
The shame that startled virgins feel, Deafened by the cataract's roar ?
Could make the generous girl forget
Her wonted hospitable zeal.
Sweet milk that smacked of mountain thyme,
Oat cake, and such a yellow roll Like the swell of some sweet tune,
of butter, - it gilds all my rhyme ! Morning rises into noon, May glides onward into June.
And, while we ate the grateful food
(With weary limbs on bench reclined), Childhood is the bough where slumbered
Considerate and discreet, she stood Birds and blossoms many-numbered ;
| Apart, and listened to the wind. Age, that bough with snows encumbered. Gather, then, each flower that grows,
Kind wishes both our souls engaged, When the young heart overflows,
From breast to breast spontaneous ran To embalm that tent of snows.
The mutual thought, -- we stood and pledged
THE MODEST ROSE ABOVE Loch Dan.
“The milk we drink is not more pure, One touch of that magic wand.
Sweet Mary, - bless those budding charms !
Than your own generous heart, I'm sure,
Nor whiter than the breast it warms !"
She turned and gazed, unused to hear
Such language in that homely glen ; 0, that dew, like balm, shall steal
But, Mary, you have naught to fear,
Though smiled on by two stranger-men.
Not for a crown would I alarm
Your virgin pride by word or sign,
Nor need a painful blush disarm
Her simple heart could not but feel
The words we spoke were free from guile; She stooped, she blushed, she fixed her wheel,
'T is all in vain, — she can't but smile ! Just like sweet April's dawn appears
Her modest face, - I see it yet, —
Methinks I never could forget
Fills all her downcast eyes with light,
The white teeth struggling into sight, The dimples eddying o'er her cheek, —
The rosy cheek that won't be still ; 0, who could blame what flatterers speak,
Did smiles like this reward their skill ?
TO THE HIGHLAND GIRL OF
INVERSNAID. Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower Of beauty is thy earthly dower ! Twice seven consenting years have shed Their utmost bounty on thy head; And these gray rocks, this household lawn, These trees, -- a veil just half withdrawn, This fall of water that doth make A murmur near the silent lake, This little bay, a quiet road That holds in shelter thy abode; In truth together ye do seem Like something fashioned in a dream; Such forms as from their covert peep When earthly cares are laid asleep! But O fair Creature ! in the light Of common day so heavenly bright, I bless thee, Vision as thou art, I bless thee with a human heart : God shield thee to thy latest years ! I neither know thee nor thy peers ; And yet my eyes are filled with tears.
For such another smile, I vow,
Though loudly beats the midnight rain,
THREAD AND SONG. SWEETER and sweeter,
Soft and low,
Thy numbers flow,
To and fro;
Thread and song, Keeping them flying
Late and long, Through the stitch linger, Kissing thy finger,
Quick, - as it skips along. Many an echo,
Soft and low,
Fancy so, –
Come and go ;
Quick as thine, Loving to linger
On the line,
Dearer than brother :
J. W. PALMER.
With earnest feeling I shall pray
What hand but would a garland cull
Only, free from flutterings
Of loud mirth that scorneth measure, Taking love for her chief pleasure.
Thou art to me but as a wave
Choosing pleasures, for the rest,
Which come softly, — just as she,
When she nestles at your knee. Quiet talk she liketh best,
In a bower of gentle looks, – Watering flowers, or reading books.
And her voice, it murmurs lowly,
As a silver stream may run,
Now thanks to Heaven ! that of its grace
And her smile, it seems half holy,
Than our common jestings are.
He would sing of her with falls
And if any painter drew her,
He would paint her unaware