Page images
[graphic][merged small]
[ocr errors]

MARY, go and call the cattle home, The creeping tide crept up along the sand,
And call the cattle home,

And o'er and o’er the sand,
And call the cattle home,

And round and round the sand,
Across the sands of Dee!

As far as eye could see. The western wind was wild and dank with The blinding mist came down and hid the foam,

land; And all alone went she.

And never home came she.


To her grave beside the sea ; But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home

Across the sands of Dee.



Dark and drear;

“Oh, is it weed, or fish, or floating hair, So some strange thoughts transcend our wontA tress of golden hair,

ed themes,
A drowned maiden's hair,

And into glory peep.
Above the nets at sea ?
Was never salmon yet that shone so fair If a star were confined into a tomb,
Among the stakes on Dee."

Her captive flames must needs burn there;

But when the hand that locked her up gives They rowed her in across the rolling foam,

The cruel crawling foam,

She'll shine through all the sphere.
The cruel hungry foam,
To her grave beside the sea;

O Father of eternal life, and all
But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle

Created glories under thee, home

Resume thy spirit from this world of thrall Across the sands of Dee.

Into true liberty!

Either disperse these mists, which blot and


My perspective still as they pass,

Or else remove me hence unto that hill
THEY are all gone into the world of light,

Where I shall need no glass !
And I alone sit lingering here;

Their very memory is fair and bright,
And my sad thoughts doth clear.

DIRGE FOR A YOUNG GIRL. It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast,

LONDERNEATH the sod low-lying, Like stars upon some gloomy grove,

Dark and drear, Or those faint beams in which this hill is

Sleepeth one who left, in dying dre sed,

Sorrow here. After the sun's remove.

Yes, they're ever bending o'er her, I see them walking in an air of glory,

Eyes that weep; Whose light doth trainple on my days;

Forms, that to the cold grave bore her, My days, which are at best but dull and

Vigils keep. hoary, Mere glimmering and decays.

When the summer moon is shining

Soft and fair, O holy Hope! and high Humility!

Friends she loved in tears are twining High as the heavens above!

Chaplets there. These are your walks, and you have showed them me

Rest in peace, thou gentle spirit,

Throned above! To kindle my cold love.

Souls like thine with God inherit

Life and love! Dear beauteous death, the jewel of the just,

JAMES T. FIELDS. Shining nowhere but in the dark, What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, Could man outlook that mark.

SONG. He that hath found some fledged bird's nest IF I had thought thou could'st have died, may know,

I might not weep for thee; At first sight, if the bird be flown;

But I forgot, when by thy side, But what fair dell or grove he sings in now, That thou could'st mortal be. That is to him unknown.

It never through my mind had passed

That time would e'er be o'er, And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams And I on thee should look my last, Call to the soul when man doth sleep,

And thou should'st smile no more.

And still upon that face I look,

And think 'twill smile again ;
And still the thought I will not brook

That I must look in vain.
But when I speak thou dost not say

What thou ne'er left'st unsaid ;
And now I feel, as well I may,

Sweet Mary, thou art dead!

If thou would'st stay e'en as thou art,

All cold, and all serene,
I still might press thy silent heart,

And where thy smiles have been ! While e'en thy chill, bleak corse I have,

Thou seemest still mine own; But there—I lay thee in thy grave,

And I am now alone.

I do not think, where'er thou art,

Thou hast forgotten me;
And I, perhaps, may soothe this heart,

In thinking still of thee;
Yet there was round thee such a dawn

Of light ne'er seen before,
As fancy never could have drawn,
And never can restore.


TO MARY IN HEAVEN. THOU lingering star, with lessening ray,

That lov'st to greet the early morn, Again thou usher'st in the day

My Mary from my soul was torn. O Mary! dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ?

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

That sacred hour can I forget ?

Can I forget the hallowed grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met,

To live one day of parting love? Eternity will not efface

Those records dear of transports past, Thy image at our last embrace;

Ah! little thought we 'twas our last!

Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore,

O'erbung with wildwoods, thickening green; The fragrant birch and hawthorn hoar

Twined amorous round the raptured scene. The flowers sprang wanton to be pressed,

The birds sang love on every spray, Till too, too soon, the glowing west

Proclaimed the speed of winged day.

Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes,

And fondly broods with miser care! Time but the impression deeper makes,

As streams their channels deeper wear. My Mary! dear departed shade!

Where is thy blissful place of rest ? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?


NOME not to my grave with your mourn-

With your lamentations and tears,
With your sad forebodings and fears;
When my lips are dumb,

Do not come!

Bring no long train of carriages,

No hearse crowned with waving plumes, Which the gaunt glory of Death illumes; But with hands on my breast

Let me rest.

If, in my fair youth time, attended

By hope and delight every day,
I could spurn the sweet baseness of clay,
Can you honor me, try


Till you

Insult not my dust with your pity,

Ye who're left on this desolate shore,
Still to suffer and lose and deplore-
'Tis I should, as I do,

Pity you.

For me no more are the hardships,

The bitterness, heartaches and strife,
The sadness and sorrow of life,
But the glory divine-

This is mine!

Poor creatures! Afraid of the darkness,

Who groan at the anguish to come,
How silent I go to my home!
Cease your sorrowful bell;
I am well.


[graphic][subsumed][ocr errors][merged small]
« PreviousContinue »