ENDYMION. THE rising moon has hid the stars; With shadows brown between. And silver white the river gleams, On such a tranquil night as this, Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought, Its deep, impassioned gaze. It comes, the beautiful, the free, The crown of all humanity,— In silence and alone To seek the elected one. It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep Are Life's oblivion, the soul's sleep. And kisses the closed eyes Of him, who slumbering lies. O weary hearts! O slumbering eyes! Are fraught with fear and pain, No one is so accursed by fate, But some heart, though unknown, Responds, -as if with unseen wings "Where hast thou stayed so long?" THE TWO LOCKS OF HAIR FROM THE CERMAN OF PFIZER. A YOUTH, light-hearted and content, Yet oft I dream, that once a wife I wake! Away that dream,-away! So long, that both by night and day The end lies ever in my thought; But now the dream is wholly o'er, And wander through the world once more, Two locks, and they are wondrous fair,— The brown is from the mother's hair, And when I see that lock of gold, IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY. NO HAY PÁJAROS EN LOS NIDOS DE ANTAÑO. THE sun is bright, Spanish Proverb. the air is clear, The darting swallows soar and sing, And from the stately elms I hear The blue-bird prophesying Spring So blue yon winding river flows, It seems an outlet from the sky, Where waiting till the west wind blows. The freighted clouds at anchor lie. All things are new;-the buds, the leaves, That gild the elm-tree's nodding crest, And even the nest beneath the eaves; - There are no birds in last year's nest! All things rejoice in youth and love, Maiden, that read'st this simple rhyme, Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth, THE RAINY DAY. THE day is cold, and dark, and dreary; My life is cold, and dark, and dreary; My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past, Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary GOD'S-ACRE. I LIKE that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls Into its furrows shall we all be cast, In the sure faith, that we shall rise again Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom, With that of flowers, which never bloomed on earth. With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod, This is the place, where human harvests grow! TO THE RIVER CHARLES RIVER! that in silence windest Through the meadows, bright and free, Till at length thy rest thou findest In the bosom of the sea! |