230

THE BANQUET.

"And the night cometh chill with dew,
O Father! let thy light break through!

"So let the hills of doubt divide,
So bridge with faith the sunless tide!

"So let the eyes that fail on earth
On thy eternal hills look forth!

"And in thy beckoning angels know
The dear ones whom we loved below."

THE BANQUET.

LANDON.

THERE was a feast that night,

And colored lamps sent forth their odorous light

Over gold carving, and the purple fall

Of tapestry; and around each stately hall
Were statues pale, and delicate, and fair,

As all of Beauty, save her blush, were there;
And, like light clouds, floating around each room
The censers sent their breathings of perfume;
And scented waters mingled with the breath
Of flowers that died as they rejoiced in death;
The tulip, with its globe of rainbow light;
The red rose, as it languished with delight;
The bride-like hyacinth, drooping as with shame;
And the anemone, whose cheek of flame

TIME, HOPE, AND MEMORY. 231

Is golden, as it were the flower of sun,
In his noon hour, most loved to look upon.
At first the pillared halls were still and lone,
As if some fairy palace, all unknown

To mortal eye or step. This was not long.
Wakened the lutes, and rose the sound of song;
And the wide mirrors glittered with the crowd
Of changing shapes; the young, the fair, the proud,
Came thronging in.

TIME, HOPE, AND MEMORY.

HOOD.

I HEARD a gentle maiden, in the spring,
Set her sweet sighs to music, and thus sing:
"Fly through the world, and I will follow thee,
Only for looks that may turn back on me;

"Only for roses that your chance may throw,—
Though withered I will wear them on my brow,
To be a thoughtful fragrance to my brain,
Warmed with such love that they will bloom again.

"Thy love before thee, I must tread behind,
Kissing thy footprints, though to me unkind;
But trust not all her fondness, though it seem,
Lest thy true love should rest on a false dream.

"Her face is smiling, and her voice is sweet; But smiles betray, and music sings deceit :

232

LITTLE ROSE.

And words speak false ;

-

-yet, if they welcome prove,

I'll be their echo, and repeat their love.

Only, if wakened to sad truth at last,

The bitterness to come, and sweetness past, When thou art vext, then turn again, and see Thou hast loved Hope, but Memory loved thee."

LITTLE ROSE.

Blackwood's Magazine.

SHE comes with fairy footsteps;

Softly their echoes fall;

And her shadow plays, like a summer shade,

Across the garden wall.

The golden light is dancing bright

Mid the mazes of her hair,

And her fair young locks are waving free

To the wooing of the air.

Like a sportive fawn she boundeth

So gleefully along;

As a wild young bird she caroleth

The burden of a song.

The summer birds are clustering thick

Around her dancing feet,

And on her cheek the clustering breeze
Is breaking soft and sweet.

LITTLE ROSE.

The very sunbeams seem to linger
Above that holy head,

And the wild flowers at her coming
Their richest fragrance shed.
And O, how lovely light and fragrance
Mingle in the life within!

O, how fondly do they nestle

Round the soul that knows no sin!

She comes, the spirit of our childhood, -
A thing of mortal birth,

Yet beareth still a breath of heaven,
To redeem her from the earth.
She comes in bright-robed innocence,
Unsoiled by blot or blight,
And passeth by our wayward path
A gleam of angel light.

O, blessed things are children!

The gifts of heavenly love;

They stand betwixt our heavenly hearts

And better things above.

They link us with the spirit world

By purity and truth,

And keep our hearts still fresh and young

With the presence of their youth.

233

THERE breathes no being but has some pretence
To that fine instinct called poetic sense;

The rudest savage roaming through the wild,
The simplest rustic bending o'er his child,
The infant listening to the warbling bird,
The mother smiling at its half-formed word;
The boy uncaged, who tracks the fields at large,
The girl turned matron to her babe-like charge;
The freeman casting with unpurchased hand
The vote that shakes the turrets of the land;
The slave, who, slumbering on his rusted chain,
Dreams of the palm-trees on his burning plain;
The hot-cheeked reveller, tossing down the wine,
To join the chorus, “Auld lang syne;

The gentle maid, whose azure eye grows dim,
While Heaven is listening to her evening hymn;
The jewelled beauty, when her steps draw near
The circling dance and dazzling chandelier;
E'en trembling age, when spring's renewing air.
Waves the thin ringlets of his silvered hair, -
All, all are glowing with the inward flame,
Whose wider halo wreathes the poet's name,
While, unembalmed, the silent dreamer dies,
His memory passing with his smiles and sighs.
If glorious visions, born for all mankind,
The bright auroras of our twilight mind;
If fancies, varying as the shapes that lie
Stained on the windows of the sunset sky;