They lingering dropped and dropped again, 1840. To listen when the next would be. SONG. TO M. L. A LILY thou wast when I saw thee first, That hourly grew more pure and white, By the wind and sun; The rain and the dew for thee took care; A lily thou wast when I saw thee first, How full of wonder was the change, Reached its blossoming hour, And I saw the warm deeps of thy golden heart! Glad death may pluck thee, but never before Hath dropped from thy heart into mine, Of fragrance and light, Which fall upon souls that are lone and astray, ALLEGRA. I WOULD more natures were like thine, That we who drink forget to pine, Thou canst not see a shade in life; Thou wast some foundling whom the Hours Hath ruled thy nature from its birth, As if thy natal stars were flowers That shook their seeds round thee on earth. And thou, to lull thine infant rest, Thine every fancy seems to borrow A hope-lit rainbow out of tears, - I would more natures were like thine, Whose sad thoughts, even, leap and shine, Making us mindless of the brine, In gazing on the brilliancy. THE FOUNTAIN. INTO the sunshine, Leaping and flashing From morn till night! Into the moonlight, When the winds blow! Into the starlight, Ever in motion, Blithesome and cheery. Never aweary; Glad of all weathers, Still seeming best, Full of a nature Ceaseless aspiring, Ceaseless content, Darkness or sunshine Thy element; Glorious fountain! Let my heart be Fresh, changeful, constant, ODE. I. In the old days of awe and keen-eyed wonder, He saw the mysteries which circle under The outward shell and skin of daily life. Nothing to him were fleeting time and fashion, His soul was led by the eternal law; There was in him no hope of fame, no passion, But, with calm, god-like eyes, he only saw. He did not sigh o'er heroes dead and buried, Chief-mourner at the Golden Age's hearse, Nor deem that souls whom Charon grim had ferried Alone were fitting themes of epic verse: He could believe the promise of to-morrow, And feel the wondrous meaning of to-day; He had a deeper faith in holy sorrow Than the world's seeming loss could take away. To know the heart of all things was his duty, All things did sing to him to make him wise, And, with a sorrowful and conquering beauty, The soul of all looked grandly from his eyes. He gazed on all within him and without him, He watched the flowing of Time's steady tide, And shapes of glory floated all about him And whispered to him, and he prophesied. Him who hath spoken with the unseen Lord!" The tree of wisdom grew with sturdy rind. Which to the calm and silent spirit come; He knew that the One Soul no more rejoices In the star's anthem than the insect's hum. He in his heart was ever meek and humble, And yet with kingly pomp his numbers ran, As he foresaw how all things false should crumble Before the free, uplifted soul of man : And, when he was made full to overflowing With all the loveliness of heaven and earth, Out rushed his song, like molten iron glowing, To show God sitting by the humblest hearth. With calmest courage he was ever ready To teach that action was the truth of thought, And, with strong arm and purpose firm and steady, An anchor for the drifting world he wrought. So did he make the meanest man partaker All souls did reverence him and name him Maker, Of human soul, unwaning and undimming, II. But now the Poet is an empty rhymer And sending sun through the soul's prison-bars. To show the body's dross, the spirit's worth. Awake! great spirit of the ages olden! Shiver the mists that hide thy starry lyre, And let man's soul be yet again beholden To thee for wings to soar to her desire. O, prophesy no more to-morrow's splendor, Be no more shame-faced to speak out for Truth, Lay on her altar all the gushings tender, The hope, the fire, the loving faith of youth! O, prophesy no more the Maker's coming, Say not his onward footsteps thou canst hear This longing was but granted unto thee |