THE ARAB'S FAREWELL TO HIS HORSE.
My beautiful! my beautiful!
That standest meekly by
With thy proudly arch'd and glossy neck, And dark and fiery eye;
Fret not to roam the desert now,
With all thy winged speedI may not mount on thee againThou'rt sold, my Arab steed! Fret not with that impatient hoofSnuff not the breezy windThe further that thou fliest now, So far am I behind; The stranger hath thy bridle reinThy master hath his goldFleet-limb'd and beautiful! farewell!— Thou 'rt sold, my steed-thou 'rt sold! Farewell! those free untired limbs
Full many a mile must roam,
To reach the chill and wintry sky,
Which clouds the stranger's home;
Some other hand, less fond, must now
Thy corn and bread prepare:
The silky mane I braided once,
Must be another's care!
The morning sun shall dawn again,
But never more with thee
Shall I gallop through the desert paths,
Where we were wont to be;
Evening shall darken on the earth;
And o'er the sandy plain
Some other steed, with slower step,
Shall bear me home again.
Yes, thou must go! the wild, free breeze,
The brilliant sun and sky,
Thy master's home-from all of these,
My exiled one must fly.
Thy proud, dark eye will grow less proud,
Thy step become less fleet,
And vainly shalt thou arch thy neck,
Thy master's hand to meet.
Only in sleep shall I behold
That dark eye, glancing bright-
Only in sleep shall hear again
That step so firm and light:
And when I raise my dreaming arm
To check or cheer thy speed,
Then must I starting wake, to feel-
Thou 'rt sold, my Arab steed!
Ah! rudely then, unseen by me,
Some cruel hand may chide,
Till foam-wreaths lie, like crested waves,
Along thy panting side:
And the rich blood that's in thee swells,
In thy indignant pain,
Till careless eyes, which rest on thee,
May count each started vein.
Will they ill use thee? If I thought-
But no, it cannot be
Thou art so swift, yet easy curb'd;
So gentle, yet so free.
And yet, if haply when thou'rt gone,
My lonely heart should yearn-
Can the hand which casts thee from it now,
Command thee to return?
Return!-alas! my Arab steed!
What shall thy master do,
When thou, who wert his all of joy,
Hast vanish'd from his view?
When the dim distance cheats mine eye,
And through the gathering tears
Thy bright form, for a moment,
Like the false mirage appears.
Slow and unmounted will I roam,
With weary foot alone,
Where with fleet step and joyous bound
Thou oft has borne me on;
And sitting down by that green well,
I'll pause and sadly think,
"It was here he bow'd his glossy neck,
When last I saw him drink!"
When last I saw thee drink!-away!
The fever'd dream is o'er-
I could not live a day, and know
That we should meet no more!
They tempted me, my beautiful!
For hunger's power is strong-
They tempted me, my beautiful!
But I have loved too long.
Who said that I had given thee up?—
Who said that thou wert sold?
"Tis false, 'tis false, my Arab steed!
I fling them back their gold!
Thus, thus, I leap upon thy back,
And scour the distant plains;
Away! who overtakes us now,
Shall claim thee for his pains.
WE HAVE BEEN FRIENDS TOGETHER.
We have been friends together,
In sunshine and in shade;
Since first beneath the chestnut trees
In infancy we play'd.
But coldness dwells within thy heart,
A cloud is on thy brow;
We have been friends together-
Shall a light word part us now?
We have been gay together;
We have laugh'd at little jests;
For the fount of hope was gushing
Warm and joyous in our breasts. But laughter now hath fled thy lip, And sullen glooms thy brow; We have been gay togetherShall a light word part us now?
We have been sad together,
We have wept with bitter tears,
O'er the grass-grown graves, where slumber'd
The hopes of early years.
The voices which are silent there
Would bid thee clear thy brow;
We have been sad together-
Oh! what shall part us now?
Do you remember all the sunny places, [gether? Where in bright days, long past, we play'd toDo you remember all the old home faces
That gather'd round the hearth in wintry weather? Do you remember all the happy meetings,
In Summer evenings round the open doorKind looks, kind hearts, kind words and tender greetings,
And clasping hands whose pulses beat no more?
Do you remember them?
Do you remember all the merry laughter;
The voices round the swing in our old garden:
The dog that, when we ran, still follow'd after;
The teazing frolic sure of speedy pardon :
We were but children then, young happy creatures,
And hardly knew how much we had to lose-
But now the dreamlike memory of those features
Comes back, and bids my darken'd spirit muse.
Do you remember them?
Do you remember when we first departed
From all the old companions who were round us,
How very soon again we grew light-hearted,
And talk'd with smiles of all the links which bound us?
And after, when our footsteps were returning,
With unfelt weariness, o'er hill and plain;
How our young hearts kept boiling up, and burning,
To think how soon we'd be at home again,
Do you remember this?
Do you remember how the dreams of glory
Kept fading from us like a fairy treasure;
How we thought less of being famed in story,
And more of those to whom our fame gave plea-
Do you remember in far countries, weeping, When a light breeze, a flower, hath brought to mind Old happy thoughts, which till that hour were sleeping,
And made us yearn for those we left behind?
Do you remember this?
Do you remember when no sound woke gladly, But desolate echoes through our home were ringing,
How for a while we talk'd-then paused full sadly, Because our voices bitter thoughts were bringing? Ah me! those days-those days! my friend, my brother,
Sit down, and let us talk of all our wo, For we have nothing left but one another;Yet where they went, old play mate, we shall goLet us remember this.
BE frank with me, and I accept my lot;
But deal not with me as a grieving child,
Who for the loss of that which he hath not
Is by a show of kindness thus beguiled.
Raise not for me, from its enshrouded tomb,
The ghostly likeness of a hope deceased;
Nor think to cheat the darkness of my doom
By wavering doubts how far thou art released: This dressing pity in the garb of love,—
This effort of the heart to seem the same,These sighs and lingerings, (which nothing prove But that thou leavest me with a kind of shame,)— Remind me more, by their most vain deceit, Of the dear loss of all which thou dost counterfeit.
We stand among the fallen leaves,
Young children at our play,
And laugh to see the yellow things
Go rustling on their way:
Right merrily we hunt them down,
The autumn winds and we,
Nor pause to gaze where snow-drifts lie,
Or sunbeams gild the tree:
With dancing feet we leap along
Where wither'd boughs are strown;
Nor past nor future checks our song-
The present is our own.
We stand among the fallen leaves
In youth's enchanted spring-
When hope (who wearies at the last)
First spreads her eagle wing.
We tread with steps of conscious strength
Beneath the leafless trees,
And the colour kindles in our cheek
As blows the winter breeze;
While, gazing towards the cold gray sky,
Clouded with snow and rain,
We wish the old year all past by,
And the young spring come again.
We stand among the fallen leaves
In manhood's haughty prime-
When first our pausing hearts begin
To love the olden time;"
And, as we gaze, we sigh to think
How many a year hath pass'd
Since neath those cold and faded trees
Our footsteps wander'd last;
And old companions-now perchance
Estranged, forgot, or dead-
Come round us, as those autumn leaves
Are crush'd beneath our tread.
We stand among the fallen leaves
In our own autumn day-
And, tottering on with feeble steps,
Pursue our cheerless way.
We look not back-too long ago
Hath all we loved been lost;
Nor forward-for we may not live
To see our new hope cross'd:
But on we go-the sun's faint beam
A feeble warmth imparts-
Childhood without its joy returns—
The present fills our hearts!
A WORD is ringing through my brain:
It was not meant to give me pain;
It had no tone to bid it stay,
When other things had pass'd away;
It had no meaning more than all
Which in an idle hour fall:
It was when first the sound I heard
A lightly-utter'd, careless word.
That word-oh! it doth haunt me now,
In scenes of joy, in scenes of wo;
By night, by day, in sun or shade,
With the half smile that gently play'd
Reproachfully, and gave the sound
Eternal power through life to wound.
There is no voice I ever heard
So deeply fix'd as that one word.
When in the laughing crowd some tone,
Like those whose joyous sound is gone,
Strikes on my ear, I shrink-for then
The careless word comes back again.
When all alone I sit and gaze
Upon the cheerful home-fire blaze,
Lo! freshly as when first 't was heard,
Returns that lightly-utter'd word.
When dreams bring back the days of old,
With all that wishes could not hold;
And from my feverish couch I start
To press a shadow to my heart-
Amid its beating echoes, clear
That little word I seem to hear:
In vain I say, while it is heard,
Why weep?'t was but a foolish word.
It comes-and with it co.ne the tears,
The hopes, the joys of former years;
Forgotten smiles, forgotten looks,
Thick as dead leaves on autumn brooks,
And all as joyless, though they were
The brightest things life's spring could share.
Oh! would to God I ne'er had heard
That lightly-utter'd, careless word!
It was the first, the only one
Of these which lips forever gone
Breathed in their love-which had for me
Rebuke of harshness at my glee:
And if those lips were heard to say,
"Beloved, let it pass away,"
Ah! then, perchance-but I have heard
The last dear tone-the careless word!
Oh! ye who, meeting, sigh to part,
Whose words are treasures to some heart,
Deal gently, ere the dark days come,
When earth hath but for one a home;
Lest, musing o'er the past, like me,
They feel their hearts wrung bitterly,
And, heeding not what else they heard,
Dwell weeping on a careless word.
Low she lies, who blest our eyes
Through many a sunny day;
She may not smile, she will not rise-
The life hath past away!
Yet there is a world of light beyond,
Where we neither die nor sleep-
She is there, of whom our souls were fond-
Then wherefore do we weep?
The heart is cold, whose thoughts were told
In each glance of her glad bright eye;
And she lies pale, who was so bright,
She scarce seem'd made to die.
Yet we know that her soul is happy now,
Where the saints their calm watch keep;
That angels are crowning that fair young brow—
Then wherefore do we weep?
Her laughing voice made all rejoice,
Who caught the happy sound;
There was gladness in her very step,
As it lightly touch'd the ground.
The echoes of voice and step are gone;
There is silence still and deep:
Yet we know she sings by God's bright throne-
Then wherefore do we weep?
The cheek's pale tinge, the lid's dark fringe,
That lies like a shadow there,
Were beautiful in the eyes of all-
And her glossy golden hair!
But though that lid may never wake
From its dark and dreamless sleep,
She is gone were young hearts do not break-
Then wherefore do we weep?
That world of light with joy is bright,
This is a world of wo:
Shall we grieve that her soul hath taken flight, Because we dwell below?
We will bury her under the mossy sod,
And one long bright tress we'll keep; We have only given her back to God— Ah! wherefore do we weep?
LIKE an enfranchised bird, who wildly springs,
With a keen sparkle in his glancing eye
And a strong effort in his quivering wings,
Up to the blue vault of the happy sky,-
So my enamour'd heart, so long thine own,
At length from love's imprisonment set free,
Goes forth into the open world alone,
Glad and exulting in its liberty:
But like that helpless bird, (confined so long,
His weary wings have lost all power to soar, Who soon forgets to trill his joyous song,
And, feebly fluttering, sinks to earth once more,) So, from its former bonds released in vain, [chain. My heart still feels the weight of that remember'd
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