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MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

THRENODIA.

GONE, gone from us! and shall we

see

Those sibyl-leaves of destiny,
Those calm eyes, nevermore?

Those deep, dark eyes so warm and bright,

Wherein the fortunes of the man
Lay slumbering in prophetic light,
In characters a child might scan?
So bright, and gone forth utterly!
O stern word-Nevermore !

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 not why,
Her voice would falter in its song,
And tears would slide from out her eye,
Silent, as they were doing wrong.
O stern 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,
Fluttering with half-fledged words,
Or hushing to a smile

That more than words expressed,
When his glad mother on him stole
And snatched him to her breast!

O, thoughts were brooding in those

eyes,

That would have soared like strongwinged birds

Far, far, into the skies,
Gladding the earth with song,
And gushing harmonies,

Had he but tarried with us long!
O stern word - Nevermore !

How peacefully they rest,
Crossfolded there
Upon his little breast,

Those small, white hands that ne'er 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!
O stern 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 !

He did but float a little way Adown the stream of time,

With dreamy eyes watching the ripples play,

Or hearkening their fairy chime;
His slender sail

Ne'er felt the gale;

He did but float a little way,
And, putting to the shore
While yet 't was early day,
Went calmly on his way,
To dwell with us no more!
No jarring did he feel,

No grating on his vessel's keel;
A strip of silver sand
Mingled the waters with the land
Where he was seen no more:
O stern word- Nevermore !

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 !

1839.

THE SIRENS.

THE sea is lonely, the sea is dreary, The sea is restless and uneasy; Thou seekest quiet, thou art weary, Wandering thou knowest not whith

er;

Our little isle is green and breezy,

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Only the sliding of the wave Beneath the plank, and feel so near A cold and lonely grave,

A restless grave, where thou shalt lie Even in death unquietly?

Look down beneath thy wave-worn bark,

Lean over the side and see

The leaden eye of the sidelong shark Upturned 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!

Look down beneath thy wave-worn bark

Into the cold depth of the sea!

Look down! Look down!

Thus, on Life's lonely sea,
Heareth the marinere

Voices sad, from far and near,
Ever singing full of fear,
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!

Here is a gush of many streams,
A song of many birds,

And every wish and longing seems
Lulled to a numbered flow of words,
Listen! O, listen!

Here ever hum the golden bees
Underneath full-blossomed trees,
At once with glowing fruit and flowers
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,

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These are Irené's dowry, which no fate Can shake from their serene, deepbuilded state.

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 sidelong 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

came

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 spot.

Yet sets she not her soul so 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 strife,

And all its sins and sorrows hath with

stood

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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 woe! 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!

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WITH A PRESSED FLOWER.

THIS little blossom from afar
Hath come from other lands to thine;
For, once, its white and drooping star
Could see its shadow in the Rhine.
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.

"He loves me, loves me not," she cries;

"He loves me more than earth of heaven!"

And then glad tears have filled her

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