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THRENODIA. GONE, gone from us ! and shall we
The stars of those two gentle eyes Will shine no more on earth; Quenched are the hopes that had their
birth, As we watched them slowly rise, Stars of a mother's fate ; And she would read them o'er and o'er, Pondering as she sate, Over their dear astrology, Which she had conned and conned
before, Deeming she needs must read aright What was writ so passing bright. And yet, alas ! she knew pot why, Her voice would falter in its song, And tears would slide from out her eye, Silent, as they were doing wrong. Ostern word - Nevermore ! The tongue that scarce had learned
to claim An entrance to a mother's heart By that dear talisman, a mother's name, Sleeps all forgetful of its art ! I loved to see the infant soul (How mighty in the weakness Of its untutored meekness !) Peep timidly from out its nest,
His lips, the while,
eyes, That would have soared like strong
How peacefully they rest,
were still before, But ever sported with his mother's hair, Or the plain cross that on her breast
she wore ! Her heart no more will beat To feel the touch of that soft palm, That ever seemed a new surprise Sending glad thoughts up to her eyes To bless him with their holy calm, Sweet thoughts! they made her eyes
as sweet. How quiet are the hands That wove those pleasant bands ! But that they do not rise and sink With his calm breathing, I should think That he were dropped asleep. Alas! too deep, too deep Is this his slumber! Time scarce can number The years ere he will wake again. O, may we see his eyelids open then ! Oʻstern word Nevermore
As the airy gossamere, Floating in the sunlight clear, Where'er it toucheth clingeth tightly, Round glossy leaf or stump unsightly, So from his spirit wandered out Tendrils spreading all about, Knitting all things to its thrall With a perfect love of all : O stern word - Nevermore!
Come and rest thee ! O come hither
the shore To be at rest among the flowers ; Full of rest, the green moss lifts,
As the dark waves of the sea Draw in and out of rocky rifts,
Calling solemnly to thee With voices deep and hollow,
“To the shore Follow ! O, follow ! To be at rest forevermore !
He did but float a little way
Full short his journey was; no dust Of earth unto his sandals clave; The weary weight that old men must, He bore not to the grave. He seemed a cherub who had lost his
way And wandered hither, so his stay With us was short, and't was most meet That he should be no delver in earth's
clod, Nor need to pause and cleanse his feet To stand before his God : O blest word - Evermore !
Look how the gray old Ocean From the depth of his heart rejoices, Heaving with a gentle motion, When he hears our restful voices ; List how he sings in an undertone, Chiming with our melody ; And all sweet sounds of earth and air Melt into one low voice alone, That murmurs over the weary sea, And seems to sing from everywhere, “ Here mayst thou harbor peacefully, Here mayst thou rest from the aching
oar ; Turn thy curvëd prow ashore, And in our green isle rest forevermore!
Forevermore!" And Echo half wakes in the wooded
hill, And, to her heart so calm and deep,
Murmurs over in her sleep, Doubtfully pausing and murmuring still “Evermore !"
Thus, on Life's weary sea,
Ever singing longingly.
To see the still seals only
Making it yet more lonely? Is it not better, than to hear
The sea is lonely, the sea is dreary, The sea is restless and uneasy ; Thou seekest quiet, thou art weary, Wandering thou knowest not whithOur little isle is green and breezy,
And there, where the smooth, wet peb
bles be, The waters gurgle longingly, As if they fain would seek the shore, To be at rest from the ceaseless roar, To be at rest forevermore,
Thus, on Life's gloomy sea,
“Here is rest and peace ior thee!" NANTASKET, July, 1840.
Only the sliding of the wave
bark, Lean over the side and see The leaden eye of the sidelong shark
Upturnëd patiently, Ever waiting there for thee: Look down and see those shapeless
forms, Which ever keep their dreamless
sleep Far down within the gloomy deep, And only stir themselves in storms, Rising like islands from beneath, And snorting through the angry spray, As the frail vessel perisheth In the whirls of their unwieldy play ;
Look down ! Look down ! Upon the seaweed, slimy and dark, That waves its arms so lank and brown,
Beckoning for thee !
Thus, on Life's lonely sea,
Ever singing drearfully. Here all is pleasant as a dream : The wind scarce shaketh down the dew, The green grass floweth like a stream
Into the ocean's blue;
Listen ! O, listen !
A song of many birds,
Listen ! O, listen !
crowned ; The sand is so smooth, the yellow sand, That thy keel will not grate as it touches
the land ; All around with a slumberous sound, The singing waves slide up the strand,
Hers is a spirit deep, and crystal
clear ; Calmly beneath her earnest face it lies, Free without boldness, meek without a
fear, Quicker to look than speak its sympa
thies ; Far down into her large and patient
eyes I gaze, deep-drinking of the infinite, As, in the mid-watch of a clear, still
night, I look into the fathomless blue skies.
So circled lives she with Love's holy
light, That from the shade of self she walketh
free : The garden of her soul still keepeth
she An Eden where the snake did never
enter: She hath a natural, wise sincerity, A simple truthfulness, and these have
lent her A dignity as moveless as the centre : So that no influence of earth can stir Her steadfast courage, nor can take
away The holy peacefulness, which, night
and day, Unto her queenly soul doth minister.
Most gentle is she ; her large charity (An all unwitting, childlike gift in her) Not freer is to give than meek to bear; And, though herself not unacquaint
These are Irene's dowry, which no fato Can shake from their serene, deep
Hath in her heart wide room for all
that be, Her heart that hath no secrets of its
own, But open is as eglantine full blown. Cloudless forever is her brow serene, Speaking calm hope and trust within
her, whence Welleth a noiseless spring of patience, That keepeth all her life so fresh, so
green And full of holiness, that every look, The greatness of her woman's soul re
vealing, Unto me bringeth blessing, and a feelAs when I read in God's own holy
In-seeing sympathy is hers, which
chasteneth No less than loveth, scorning to be
bound With fear of blame, and yet which ever
hasteneth To pour the balm of kind looks on the
wound, If they be wounds which such sweet
teaching makes, Giving itself a pang for others' sakes; No want of faith, that chills with side
long eye, Hath she ; no jealousy, no Levite pride That passeth by upon the other side ; For in her soul there never dwelt a lie. Right from the hand of God her spirit Unstained, and she hath ne'er forgotten
whence It came, nor wandered far from thence, But laboreth to keep her still the same, Near to her place of birth, that she
may not Soil her white raiment with an earthly
A graciousness in giving that doth
make The small'st gift greatest, and a sense
most meek Of worthiness, that doth not fear to
take From others, but which always fears to
speak Its thanks in utterance, for the giver's
sake; The deep religion of a thankful heart, Which rests instinctively in Heaven's
clear law With a full peace, that never can de
part From its own steadfastness ;- a holy For holy things, - not those which men
call holy, But such as are revealëd to the eyes Of a true woman's soul bent down and
lowly Before the face of daily mysteries ; A love that blossoms soon, but ripens
slowly To the full goldenness of fruitful prime, Enduring with a firmness that defies All shallow tricks of circumstance and
time, By a sure insight knowing where to
cling, And where it clingeth never wither
Yet sets she not her soul 90 steadily Above, that she forgets her ties to
earth, But her whole thought would almost
seem to be How to make glad one lowly human
hearth; For with a gentle courage she doth
strive In thought and word and feeling so to
live As to make earth next heaven; and
her heart Herein doth show its most exceeding
worth, That, bearing in our frailty her just
part, She hath not shrunk from evils of this
life, But hath gone calmly forth into the With lofty strength of patient woman
strife, And all its sins and sorrows hath with
hood: For this I love her great soul more than
all, That, being bound, like us, with earthly
thrall, She walks so bright and heaven-like
therein, Too wise, too meek, too womanly, to
We each are young, we each have a
WITH A PRESSED FLOWER.
This little blossom from afar
Like a lone star through riven storm
clouds seen By sailors, tempest-tost upon the sea, Telling of rest and peaceful heavens
nigh, Unto my soul her star-like soul hath
been, Her sight as full of hope and calm to
me; For she unto herself hath builded high A home serene, wherein to lay her
head, Farth's noblest thing, a Woman per
Perchance some fair-haired German
maid Hath plucked one from the self-same
stalk, And numbered over, half afraid, Its petals in her evening walk.
From the close-shut windows gleams
no spark, The night is chilly, the night is dark,
The poplars shiver, the pine trees moan, My hair by the autumn breeze is blown, Under thy window I sing alone, Alone, alone, ah woe ! alone ! The darkness is pressing coldly around, The windows shake with a lonely sound, The stars are hid and the night is drear, The heart of silence throbs in thine ear, In thy chamber thou sittest alone, Alone, alone, ah woel alone! The world is happy, the world is wide, Kind hearts are beating on every side ; Ah, why should we lie so coldly curled Alone in the shell of this great world? Why should we any more be alone? Alone, alone, ah woe | alone ! O, 't is a bitter and dreary word, The saddest by man's ear ever heard !
“He loves me, loves me not," she “ He loves me more than earth or
heaven !" And then glad tears have filled her
eyes To find the number was uneven. And thou must count its petals well, Because it is a gift from me ; And the last one of all shall tell Something I 've often told to thee. But here at home, where we were born, Thou wilt find flowers just as true, Down-bending every summer morn, With freshness of New England dew. For Nature, ever kind to love, Hath granted them the same sweet
tongue, Whether with German skies above, Or here our granite rocks among.
A BEGGAR through the world am I, From place to place I wander by.