She stood breast high amid the corn,
Clasped by the golden light of morn,
Like the sweetheart of the sun,
Who many a glowing kiss had won.
On her cheek an autumn flush,
Deeply ripened;-such a blush
In the midst of brown was born,
Like red poppies grown
Round her eyes her tresses fell,
Which were blackest none could tell,
But long lashes veiled a light,
That had else been all too bright.
And her hat, with shady brim,
Made her tressy forehead dim;-
Thus she stood amid the stooks,
Praising God with sweetest looks:-
Sure, I said, heaven did not mean,
Where I reap thou shouldst but glean,
Lay thy sheaf adown and come,
Share my harvest and my home.
Ah! 'tis like a tale of olden
Time, long, long ago;
When the world was in its golden
Prime, and love was lord below!
Every vein of earth was dancing
With the Spring's new wine!
'Twas the pleasant time of flowers,
When I met you, love of mine!
Some spirit sure was straying
Out of heaven that day,
When I met you, Sweet! a-Maying
In that merry, merry May.
Little heart! it shyly opened
Its red leaves' love-lore,
Like a rose that must be ripened
To the dainty, dainty core.
But its beauties daily brighten,
And it blooms so dear,-
Though a many Winters whiten,
I go Maying all the year.
And my proud heart will be praying
Blessings on the day,
When I met you, Sweet, a-Maying,
In that merry, merry May.
THE LANGUAGE OF THE EYES.
"The lady of my life, whose lovely eyes
Dreaming, or waking, lure me.”
Those eyes-those eyes-how full of heaven they are!
When the calm twilight leaves the heaven most holy;
Tell me, sweet Eyes, from what divinest star
Did ye drink in your liquid melancholy?
Was it from yonder orb that ever by
The quiet moon, like Hope by Patience, hovers,
The star to which hath sped so many a sigh,
Since lutes in Lesbos hallowed it to Lovers?
Was that your fount, sweet Eyes?
Ye Sibyl books, in which the truths foretold
Inspire the heart, your dreaming priest, with gladness,
Bright alchemists that turn to thoughts of gold
The leaden cares ye steal away from sadness,
Teach only me, sweet Eyes!
Hush! when I ask ye how, at length, to gain,
The cell where Love, the sleeper, yet lies hidden,
Loose not those arch lips from their rosy chain;
Be every answer, save your own, forbidden-
Feelings are words for Eyes!
Keep those eyes still purely mine,
Tho' far off I be:
When on others most they shine,
Then think they're turned on me.
Should those lips as now respond
To sweet minstrelsy,
When their accents seem most fond,
Then think they're breathed for me.
Make what hearts thou wilt thine own,
If, when all on thee
Fix their charmed thoughts alone,
Thou think'st the while on me.
Still on the tower stood the vane,
A black yew gloomed the stagnant air,
I peered athwart the chancel pane
And saw the altar cold and bare.
A clog of lead was round my feet,
A band of pain across my brow;
'Cold altar, heaven and earth shall meet
Before you hear my marriage vow.'
I turned and hummed a bitter song
That mocked the wholesome human heart, And then we met in wrath and wrong,
We met-but only meant to part.
Full cold my greeting was and dry;
She faintly smiled, she hardly moved;
I saw with half unconscious eye
She wore the colours I approved.
She took the little ivory chest,
With half a sigh she turned the key, Then raised her head with lips comprest, And gave my letters back to me.
gave the trinkets and the rings,
My gifts, when gifts of mine could please; As looks a father on the things
Of his dead son, I looked on these.
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