BOAT-SONG. WE court no gale with wooing sail, For what to us are winds, when thus Qur merry boat is flying, While, bold and free, with jocund glee, At twilight dun, when red the sun His crimson pathway dashes. And when the night devours the light, The stars steal out, the skies about, Sometimes, near shore, we ease our oar, To watch the beam through her casement gleam, To music soft, receding, Or drain one cup, to her fill'd up, For whom these notes are pleading. Thus, on and on, till the night is gone, And though cheerless then our craft look, when MORNING HYMN. "LET THERE BE LIGHT!" The Eternal spoke, And from the abyss where darkness rode The earliest dawn of nature broke, And light around creation flow'd. The glad earth smiled to see the day, "Let there be light!" O'er heaven and earth, The GoD who first the day-beam pour'd, Utter'd again his fiat forth, And shed the gospel's light abroad, Flushes the signal-light for prayer; From God's bright throne of glory there. THE WESTERN HUNTER TO HIS MISTRESS. WEND, love, with me, to the deep woods, wend, Where far in the forest the wild flowers keep, Where no watching eye shall over us bend, Save the blossoms that into thy bower peep. Thou shalt gather from buds of the oriole's hue, Whose flaming wings round our pathway flit, From the saffron orchis and lupin blue, And those like the foam on my courser's bit. One steed and one saddle us both shall bear, One hand of each on the bridle meet; And beneath the wrist that entwines me there, An answering pulse from my heart shall beat. I will sing thee many a joyous lay, As we chase the deer by the blue lake-side, While the winds that over the prairie play Shall fan the cheek of my woodland bride. Our home shall be by the cool, bright streams, Where the beaver chooses her safe retreat, And our hearth shall smile like the sun's warm [meet. gleams Through the branches around our lodge that Then wend with me, to the deep woods wend, Where far in the forest the wild flowers keep, Where no watching eye shall over us bend, Save the blossoms that into thy bower peep. THY NAME. It comes to me when healths go round, And o'er the wine their garlands wreathing Are freshly from the goblet breathing; With sad, sweet, silent thoughts of thee. It comes to me upon the mart, Where care in jostling crowds is rife ; Or cold Ambition prompts the strife; It comes to me when smiles are bright In eyes whose spell would once have bound me. It comes--but comes to bring alone Remembrance of some look or tone, It comes to me where cloister'd boughs Are lifted from her shrine to God; 料 ROSALIE CLARE. WHO owns not she's peerless, who calls her not fair, Who questions the beauty of ROSALIE CLARE? Let him saddle his courser and spur to the field, And, though harness'd in proof, he must perish or yield; For no gallant can splinter, no charger may dare And fond wishes for fair ones around offer'd up THINK OF ME, DEAREST. THINK of me, dearest, when day is breaking Is flinging abroad his limbs of light; As the breeze that first travels with morning forth, Giving life to her steps o'er the quickening earth-As the dream that has cheated my soul through the night, Let me in thy thoughts come fresh with the light. Think of me, dearest, when day is sinking In the soft embrace of twilight gray, When the starry eyes of heaven are winking, And the weary flowers their tears are drinking, As they start like gems on the moon-touch'd spray. Think of me, dearest, when round thee smiling power, When all that can lure to thy young soul is nearest, To summon each truant thought back to me, dearest. WE PARTED IN SADNESS. WE parted in sadness, but spoke not of parting; We talk'd not of hopes that we both must resign, I saw not her eyes, and but one tear-drop starting, Fell down on her hand as it trembled in mine: Each felt that the past we could never recover, Each felt that the future no hope could restore; She shudder'd at wringing the heart of her lover, I dared not to say I must meet her no more. Long years have gone by, and the spring-time smiles ever As o'er our young loves it first smiled in their birth. Long years have gone by, yet that parting, O! never Can it be forgotten by either on earth. [ven, The note of each wild bird that carols toward heaMust tell her of swift-winged hopes that were mine, And the dew that steals over each blossom at even, Tells me of the tear-drop that wept their decline. THE ORIGIN OF MINT JULEPS. And first behold this cordial Julep here, That flames and dances in its crystal bounds, With spirits of balm and fragrant syrups mixed; Not that Nepenthes which the wife of THOME In Egypt gave to Jove-born HELENA, Is of such power to stir up Joy as this, To life so friendly, or so cool to thirst. MILTON-Comus. "TIs said that the gods, on Olympus of old, (And who the bright legend profanes with a doubt?) One night, 'mid their revels, by BACCHUS were told That his last butt of nectar had somehow run out! But, determined to send round the goblet once more, They sued to the fairer immortals for aid [o'er, In composing a draught, which, till drinking were Should cast every wine ever drank in the shade. Grave CERES herself blithely yielded her corn, And the spirit that lives in each amber hued grain, And which first had its birth from the dews of the morn, Was taught to steal out in bright dew-drops again. POMONA, whose choicest of fruits on the board Were scatter'd profusely in every one's reach, When called on a tribute to cull from the hoard, Express'd the mild juice of the delicate peach. The liquids were mingled, while VENUS looked on, With glances so fraught with sweet magical power, That the honey of Hybla, e'en when they were gone, Has never been missed in the draught from that hour. FLORA then, from her bosom of fragrancy, shook, And with roseate fingers press'd down in the bowl, All dripping and fresh as it came from the brook, The herb whose aroma should flavour the whole. The draught was delicious, each god did exclaim, Though something yet wanting they all did beBut juleps the drink of immortals became, [wail; When Jove himself added a handful of hail. BOAT-SONG. WE court no gale with wooing sail, Seas smooth or rough, skies fair or bluff, For what to us are winds, when thus Our merry boat is flying, At twilight dun, when red the sun His crimson pathway dashes. And when the night devours the light, The stars steal out, the skies about, Sometimes, near shore, we ease our oar, To watch the beam through her casement gleam, To music soft, receding, Or drain one cup, to her fill'd up, For whom these notes are pleading. Thus, on and on, till the night is gone, And though cheerless then our craft look, when MORNING HYMN. "LET THERE BE LIGHT!" The Eternal spoke, And from the abyss where darkness rode The earliest dawn of nature broke, And light around creation flow'd. The glad earth smiled to see the day, The first-born day, come blushing in; The young day smiled to shed its ray Upon a world untouch'd by sin. "Let there be light!" O'er heaven and earth, The GoD who first the day-beam pour'd, Utter'd again his fiat forth, And shed the gospel's light abroad, Then come, when in the orient first Flushes the signal-light for prayer; From God's bright throne of glory there. THE WESTERN HUNTER TO HIS MISTRESS. WEND, love, with me, to the deep woods, wend, Where far in the forest the wild flowers keep, Where no watching eye shall over us bend, Save the blossoms that into thy bower peep. Thou shalt gather from buds of the oriole's hue, Whose flaming wings round our pathway flit, From the saffron orchis and lupin blue, And those like the foam on my courser's bit. One steed and one saddle us both shall bear, One hand of each on the bridle meet; And beneath the wrist that entwines me there, An answering pulse from my heart shall beat. I will sing thee many a joyous lay, As we chase the deer by the blue lake-side, While the winds that over the prairie play Shall fan the cheek of my woodland bride. Our home shall be by the cool, bright streams, Where the beaver chooses her safe retreat, And our hearth shall smile like the sun's warm gleams [meet. Through the branches around our lodge that Then wend with me, to the deep woods wend, Where far in the forest the wild flowers keep, Where no watching eye shall over us bend, Save the blossoms that into thy bower peep. THY NAME. IT comes to me when healths go round, Are freshly from the goblet breathing; Where care in jostling crowds is rife; Or cold Ambition prompts the strife; In eyes whose spell would once have bound me. It comes to me where cloister'd boughs Are lifted from her shrine to GOD; ROSALIE CLARE. Who owns not she's peerless, who calls her not fair, Who questions the beauty of ROSALIE CLARE? Let him saddle his courser and spur to the field, And, though harness'd in proof, he must perish or yield; For no gallant can splinter, no charger may dare The lance that is couch'd for young ROSALIE CLARE. When goblets are flowing, and wit at the board Sparkles high, while the blood of the red grape is pour'd, And fond wishes for fair ones around offer'd up Where the sea's studded over with green summer THINK OF ME, DEAREST. THINK of me, dearest, when day is breaking Let me in thy thoughts come fresh with the light. Think of me, dearest, when day is sinking In the soft embrace of twilight gray, When the starry eyes of heaven are winking, And the weary flowers their tears are drinking, As they start like gems on the moon-touch'd spray. Let me come warm in thy thoughts at eve, As the glowing track which the sunbeams leave, When they, blushing, tremble along the deep, While stealing away to their place of sleep. Think of me, dearest, when round thee smiling Are eyes that melt while they gaze on thee; When words are winning and looks are wiling, And those words and looks, of others, beguiling Thy fluttering heart from love and me. Let me come true in thy thoughts in that hour; Let my trust and my faith-my devotion--have power, When all that can lure to thy young soul is nearest, To summon each truant thought back to me, dearest. WE PARTED IN SADNESS. WE parted in sadness, but spoke not of parting; We talk'd not of hopes that we both must resign, I saw not her eyes, and but one tear-drop starting, Fell down on her hand as it trembled in mine: Each felt that the past we could never recover, Each felt that the future no hope could restore; She shudder'd at wringing the heart of her lover, I dared not to say I must meet her no more. Long years have gone by, and the spring-time smiles One night, 'mid their revels, by BACCHUS were told That his last butt of nectar had somehow run out! But, determined to send round the goblet once more, They sued to the fairer immortals for aid [o'er, In composing a draught, which, till drinking were Should cast every wine ever drank in the shade. Grave CERES herself blithely yielded her corn, And the spirit that lives in each amber hued grain, And which first had its birth from the dews of the morn, Was taught to steal out in bright dew-drops again. POMONA, whose choicest of fruits on the board Were scatter'd profusely in every one's reach, When called on a tribute to cull from the hoard, Express'd the mild juice of the delicate peach. The liquids were mingled, while VENUS looked on, With glances so fraught with sweet magical power, That the honey of Hybla, e'en when they were gone, Has never been missed in the draught from that hour. FLORA then, from her bosom of fragrancy, shook, And with roseate fingers press'd down in the bowl, All dripping and fresh as it came from the brook, The herb whose aroma should flavour the whole. The draught was delicious, each god did exclaim, Though something yet wanting they all did beBut juleps the drink of immortals became, [wail; When Jove himself added a handful of hail. SPARKLING AND BRIGHT. SPARKLING and bright in liquid light Does the wine our goblets gleam in, Which a bee would choose to dream in. As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim, O! if Mirth might arrest the flight Of Time through Life's dominions, To drink to-night with hearts as light, As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim, But since delight can't tempt the wight, Nor Love himself can hold the elf, We'll drink to-night with hearts as light, As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim, SEEK NOT TO UNDERSTAND HER. WHY seek her heart to understand, What matters all the nobleness Which in her breast resideth, Sum up each token thou hast won Her heart, of whom thou knowest Upon the wind thou throwest: ASK NOT WHY I SHOULD LOVE HER. Ask me not why I should love her: And see there how sweetly rise See, from those sweet windows peeping, Wonder not that looks so winning SHE LOVES, BUT 'TIS NOT ME. SHE loves, but 't is not me she loves: Not me on whom she ponders, When, in some dream of tenderness, Her truant fancy wanders. The forms that flit her visions through Are like the shapes of old, Where tales of prince and paladin On tapestry are told. Man may not hope her heart to win, Be his of common mould. But I-though spurs are won no more Where herald's trump is pealing, Nor thrones carved out for lady fair Where steel-clad ranks are wheelingI loose the falcon of my hopes Upon as proud a flight As those who hawk'd at high renown, In song-ennobled fight. If daring, then, true love may crown, THY SMILES. I KNOW I share thy smiles with many, I know that I, far less than any, But why, O, why on all thus squander The treasures one alone can prize,Why let the looks at random wander Which beam from those deluding eyes? Those syren tones, so lightly spoken, Cause many a heart, I know, to thrill; But mine, and only mine, till broken, In every pulse must answer still. |