LETITIA E. MACLEAN. Then the bright blue sky is joyful, To kiss away your tear. But now the wind goes wailing O'er the dark and trackless deep; And I know your grief, sweet mother, Though I only hear you weep. My father's ship will come, mother, When the grapes are dyed with purple The vines were but in blossom, When he bade me watch them grow; And now the large leaves, mother, Conceal their crimson glow. He'll bring us shells and sea-weed, I'll watch with thee, sweet mother, But the stars fade from my sight; Come, come and sleep, dear mother,Oh, weep no more to-night. CHURCHES. How beautiful they stand, Those ancient altars of our native land! By rivers broad that rush into the sea; By little brooks that, with a leaping sound, Those old grey churches of our native land! Our lives are all turmoil; Our souls are in a weary strife and toil, Grasping and straining-tasking nerve and brain, We have grown worldly-have made gold our god- We seek not snowy-folded angel's wings For visions come not to polluted eyes! Ye blessed quiet fanes! Still piety, still poetry remains, And shall remain, whilst ever on the air The dust of our beloved, and tears are shed LETITIA E. MACLEAN. Something in these aspiring days we need To set within our hearts sweet thoughts and holy! And 'tis for this they stand, The grey old churches of our native land! They stand; and chantry dim, and organ sound, Meek faith and love sincere Better in time of need than shield and spear! LITTLE Ellie sits alone 'Mid the beeches of a meadow She has thrown her bonnet by, In her hands, all sleek and dripping, ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. Little Ellie sits alone, And the smile she softly uses Fills the silence like a speech While she thinks what shall be done, And the sweetest pleasure chooses For her future within reach. Little Ellie in her smile Riding on a steed of steeds: The swan's nest among the reeds. "And the steed shall be red-roan, And the lover shall be noble, With an eye that takes the breath: And the lute he plays upon Shall strike ladies into trouble, As his sword strikes men to death. "And the steed it shall be shod All in silver, housed in azure, And the mane shall swim the wind; And the hoofs along the sod Shall flash onward and keep measure, Till the shepherds look behind. "But my lover will not prize |