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He hears the parson pray and preach,
It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
He needs must think of her once more,
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
Our fortunes must be wrought;
THE rising moon has hid the stars;
Lie on the landscape green,
And silver white the river gleams,
Had dropt her silver bow
On such a tranquil night as this,
When, sleeping in the grove,
Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought,
It comes, the beautiful, the free,
To seek the elected one.
It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep,
O, weary hearts! O, slumbering eyes!
No one is so accursed by fate,
But some heart, though unknown,
Responds, as if with unseen wings,
THE TWO LOCKS OF HAIR.
FROM THE GERMAN OF PFIZER.
A YOUTH, light-hearted and content,
Yet oft I dream, that once a wife
I wake! Away that dream,-away!
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,Left me that vision mild;
The brown is from the mother's hair,
And when I see that lock of gold,
IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY.
IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY.
NO HAY PÁJAROS EN LOS NIDOS DE ANTAÑO. Spanish Proverb
THE sun is bright,—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,
There are no birds in last year's nest!
All things rejoice in youth and love,
The fulness of their first delight! And learn from the soft heavens above The melting tenderness of night.
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 ;
Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
I LIKE that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls
And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust.
God's-Acre! Yes, that blessed name imparts
Comfort to those, who in the grave have sown The seed, that they had garnered in their hearts, Their bread of life, alas! no more their own.
Into its furrows shall we all be cast,
In the sure faith, that we shall rise again At the great harvest, when the arch-angel's blast Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain.