"Myself will to my darling be Both law and impulse; and with me The girl, in rock and plain,
In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, Shall feel an overseeing power
To kindle or restrain.
"She shall be sportive as the fawn That wild with glee across the lawn
Or up the mountain springs; And hers shall be the breathing balm, And hers the silence and the calm, Of mute insensate things.
"The floating clouds their state shall lend To her; for her the willow bend;
Nor shall she fail to see
E'en in the motions of the storm Grace that shall mould the maiden's form By silent sympathy.
"The stars of midnight shall be dear To her; and she shall lean her ear
In many a secret place
Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face.
"And vital feelings of delight
Shall rear her form to stately height,
Her virgin bosom swell;
Such thoughts to Lucy I will give While she and I together live
Here in this happy dell."
Thus Nature spake. The work was done, How soon my Lucy's race was run!
She died, and left to me This heath, this calm and quiet scene; The memory of what has been,
And nevermore will be.
"YOUNG, gay, and fortunate!" Each yields a
And, first, thy youth: what says it to gray hairs? Narcissa, I'm become thy pupil now ;-- Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew, She sparkled, was exhaled, and went to heaven.
MAIDEN! with the meek brown eyes,
In whose orbs a shadow lies
Like the dusk in evening skies!
TO THE HIGHLAND GIRL OF INVERSNAID.
SWEET Highland Girl, a very shower
Of beauty is thy earthly dower! Twice seven consenting years have shed Their utmost bounty on thy head;
And these gray rocks, this household lawn, These trees, -a veil just half withdrawn, - This fall of water that doth make
A murmur near the silent lake, This little bay, a quiet road That holds in shelter thy abode; In truth together ye do seem Like something fashioned in a dream; Such forms as from their covert peep When earthly cares are laid asleep! But O fair Creature! in the light Of common day so heavenly bright, I bless thee, Vision as thou art,
I bless thee with a human heart: God shield thee to thy latest years! I neither know thee nor thy peers; And yet my eyes are filled with tears.
With earnest feeling I shall pray For thee when I am far away ;
For never saw I mien or face
In which more plainly I could trace Benignity and home-bred sense Ripening in perfect innocence.
Here scattered like a random seed, Remote from men, thou dost not need The embarrassed look of shy distress, And maidenly shamefacedness: Thou wear'st upon thy forehead clear The freedom of a mountaineer; A face with gladness overspread, Soft smiles, by human kindness bred; And seemliness complete, that sways Thy courtesies, about thee plays; With no restraint, but such as springs From quick and eager visitings Of thoughts that lie beyond the reach Of thy few words of English speech, A bondage sweetly brooked, a strife That gives thy gestures grace and life! So have I, not unmoved in mind, Seen birds of tempest-loving kind, Thus beating up against the wind. What hand but would a garland cull For thee who art so beautiful? O happy pleasure! here to dwell Beside thee in some heathy dell; Adopt your homely ways and dress, A shepherd, thou a shepherdess ! But I could frame a wish for thee More like a grave reality:
Thou art to me but as a wave Of the wild sea; and I would have Some claim upon thee, if I could, Though but of common neighborhood. What joy to hear thee, and to see! Thy elder brother I would be, Thy father, anything to thee.
Now thanks to Heaven! that of its grace Hath led me to this lonely place; Joy have I had; and going hence I bear away my recompense. In spots like these it is we prize Our Memory, feel that she hath eyes: Then why should I be loath to stir? I feel this place was made for her; To give new pleasure like the past, Continued long as life shall last.
Nor am I loath, though pleased at heart, Sweet Highland Girl! from thee to part; For I, methinks, till I grow old As fair before me shall behold As I do now, the cabin small, The lake, the bay, the waterfall; And thee, the spirit of them all!
Only, free from flutterings
Of loud mirth that scorneth measure, Taking love for her chief pleasure.
Choosing pleasures, for the rest, Which come softly, just as she, When she nestles at your knee.
Quiet talk she liketh best, In a bower of gentle looks, Watering flowers, or reading books. And her voice, it murmurs lowly, As a silver stream may run, Which yet feels, you feel, the sun. And her smile, it seems half holy, As if drawn from thoughts more far Than our common jestings are.
And if any poet knew her,
He would sing of her with falls Used in lovely madrigals.
And if any painter drew her,
He would paint her unaware With a halo round the hair.
And if reader read the poem,
He would whisper, "You have done a Consecrated little Una."
And a dreamer (did you show him That same picture) would exclaim "Tis my angel, with a name !"
And a stranger, when he sees her
In the street even, smileth stilly, Just as you would at a lily.
And all voices that address her Soften, sleeken every word, As if speaking to a bird.
And all fancies yearn to cover
The hard earth whereon she passes, With the thymy-scented grasses.
And all hearts do pray, "God love her!' Ay, and always, in good sooth, We may all be sure HE DOTH.
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING
THE CHILDREN'S HOUR. BETWEEN the dark and the daylight, When night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupations, That is known as the children's hour.
I FEAR THY KISSES, GENTLE MAIDEN,
I FEAR thy kisses, gentle maiden; Thou needest not fear mine; My spirit is too deeply laden Ever to burden thine.
I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motion; Thou needest not fear mine; Innocent is the heart's devotion With which I worship thine.
A DISTRICT School, not far away, Mid Berkshire hills, one winter's day, Was humming with its wonted noise Of threescore mingled girls and boys; Some few upon their tasks intent, But more on furtive mischief bent. The while the master's downward look Was fastened on a copy-book; When suddenly, behind his back, Rose sharp and clear a rousing smack! As 't were a battery of bliss
Let off in one tremendous kiss!
"What's that?" the startled master cries; "That, thir," a little imp replies,
"Wath William Willith, if you pleathe,
Before the whole set school to boot - What evil genius put you to 't?" "'T was she herself, sir," sobbed the lad, "I did not mean to be so bad; But when Susannah shook her curls, And whispered, I was 'fraid of girls, And dursn't kiss a baby's doll,
I could n't stand it, sir, at all, But up and kissed her on the spot! I know boo-hoo-I ought to not, But, somehow, from her looks I thought she kind o' wished me to!"
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