Pagina-afbeeldingen
PDF
ePub
[blocks in formation]

SWEET Wind, fair wind, where have you been?

"I've been sweeping the cobwebs out of the sky;

I've been grinding a grist in the mill hard by;

I've been laughing at work while others sigh;

Let those laugh who win!"

Sweet rain, soft rain, what are you doing? "I'm urging the corn to fill out its cells; I'm helping the lily to fashion its bells; I'm swelling the torrent and brimming the wells;

Is that worth pursuing?"

Redbreast, red breast, what have you done? "I've been watching the nest where my fledgelings lie; I've sung them to sleep with a lullaby; By and by I shall teach them to fly, Up and away, every one!"

Honey-bee, honey-bee, where are you going?

"To fill my basket with precious pelf; To find out the sweetest flower that grows, To toil for my neighbor as well as myself; Be it a thistle or be it a rose,

A secret worth the knowing!"

Each content with the work to be done,
Ever the same from sun to sun:
Shall you and I be taught to work
By the bee and the bird, that scorn to
shirk?

Wind and rain fulfilling His word!
Tell me, was ever a legend heard
Where the wind, commanded to blow,
deferred;

Or the rain, that was bidden to fall, demurred?

TWO MOODS.

Singing along the river-side;
The skies above were opulent

I PLUCKED the harebells as I went

337

Of sunshine. "Ah! whate'er betide,
The world is sweet, is sweet," I cried,
That morning by the river-side.

The curlews called along the shore;
The boats put out from sandy beach;
Afar I heard the breakers' roar,
Mellowed to silver-sounding speech;
And still I sang it o'er and o'er,
"The world is sweet forevermore!"

Perhaps, to-day, some other one,
Loitering along the river-side,
Content beneath the gracious sun,
May sing, again, "Whate'er betide,
The world is sweet." I shall not chide,
Although my song is done.

ARTHUR O'SHAUGHNESSY.

SONG OF A FELLOW-WORKER.

I FOUND a fellow-worker when I deemed I toiled alone:

[ocr errors]

My toil was fashioning thought and sound, and his was hewing stone; I worked in the palace of my brain, he in the common street,

And it seemed his toil was great and hard, while mine was great and sweet.

The heart nigh fails me many a day, but I said, "O fellow-worker, yea, for I am a worker too, how is it with you?

For while I toil great tears of joy will sometimes fill my eyes, And when I form my perfect work it lives and never dies.

"I carve the marble of pure thought until the thought takes form, Until it gleams before my soul and makes the world grow warm; Until there comes the glorious voice and words that seem divine, And the music reaches all men's hearts and draws them into mine.

"And yet for days it seems my heart shall | That while they nobly held it as each

blossom never more,

And the burden of my loneliness lies on

me very sore: Therefore, O hewer of the stones that pave base human ways, How canst thou bear the years till death, made of such thankless days?"

Then he replied: "Ere sunrise, when the

pale lips of the day

Sent forth an earnest thrill of breath at
warmth of the first ray,

A great thought rose within me, how,
while men asleep had lain,
The thousand labors of the world had
grown up once again.

[merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small]

man can do and bear,

It did not wholly fall my side as though no man were there.

"And so we toil together many a day from morn till night,

I in the lower depths of life, they on the
lovely height;

For though the common stones are mine,
and they have lofty cares,
Their work begins where this leaves off,
and mine is part of theirs.

[blocks in formation]
[merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

Woe, woe!

STRIKE the loved harp; let the prelude That strength and virtue thus should pass

be,

Italy! Italy!

That chord again, again that note of glee,
Italy! Italy!

Italy! O Italy! the very sound it charmeth:

Italy! O Italy! the name my bosom

warmeth.

High thought of self-devotions, Compassionate emotions,

[blocks in formation]

Truth hath decreed her joyous resurrec- There are who for thy last, long sleep

tion:

She shall arise, she must.

For can it be that wickedness hath power
To undermine or topple down the tower
Of virtue's edifice?

And yet that vice

[ocr errors]

Shall sleep as sweetly nevermore,
Shall weep because thou canst not weep,
And grieve that all thy griefs are o'er.

Sad thrift of love! the loving breast
On which the aching head was thrown,

Should be allowed on sacred ground to Gave up the weary head to rest,

plant

[blocks in formation]

But kept the aching for its own.

[blocks in formation]

FREDERICK TENNYSON.

341

And through gray clouds give laws unto | A little while-and lo! the charm is

the realm,

[blocks in formation]

heard;

A youth, whose life has been all summer, steals

Forth from the noisy guests around the board,

Creeps by her softly; at her footstool kneels ;

And, when she pauses, murmurs tender Into her fond ear-while the Blackbird things sings.

The smoke-wreaths from the chimneys curl up higher,

And dizzy things of eve begin to float Upon the light; the breeze begins to

tire.

[blocks in formation]
« VorigeDoorgaan »