[6] Heath bed-straw (Galium Saxatile). This white-flowered bed-straw grows profusely on Hampstead Heath.
THE PROMISE.
Child.
Five blue eggs hatching,
With bright eyes watching,
Little brown mother, you sit on your nest.
With bright eyes watching,
Little brown mother, you sit on your nest.
Bird.
Oh! pass me blindly,
Oh! spare me kindly,
Pity my terror, and leave me to rest.
Oh! spare me kindly,
Pity my terror, and leave me to rest.
Chorus of Children.
Hush! hush! hush!
'Tis a poor mother thrush.
When the blue eggs hatch, the brown birds will sing—
This is a promise made in the Spring.
'Tis a poor mother thrush.
When the blue eggs hatch, the brown birds will sing—
This is a promise made in the Spring.
Child.
Chorus.
Hush! hush! hush!
'Tis the song of the thrush:
Hatched are the blue eggs; the brown birds do sing—
Keeping the promise made in the Spring.
'Tis the song of the thrush:
Hatched are the blue eggs; the brown birds do sing—
Keeping the promise made in the Spring.
Published in Aunt Judy's Magazine, July 1866, with music by Alexander Ewing.
CONVALESCENCE.
Hold my hand, little Sister, and nurse my head, whilst I try to remember the word,
What was it?—that the doctor says is now fairly established both in me and my bird.
C-O-N-con, with a con, S-T-A-N-stan, with a stan—No! That's Constantinople, that is
The capital of the country where rhubarb-and-magnesia comes from, and I wish they would keep it in that country, and not send it to this.
C-O-N-con—how my head swims! Now I've got it! C-O-N-V-A-L-E-S-C-E-N-C-E.
Convalescence! And that's what the doctor says is now fairly established both in my blackbird and me.
He says it means that you are better, and that you'll be well by and by.
And so the Sea-captain says, and he says we ought to be friends, because we're both convalescents—at least we're all three convalescents, my blackbird, and the Captain and I.
He's a sea-captain, not a land-captain, but, all the same, he was in the war,
And he fought,—for I asked him,—and he's been ill ever since, and that's why he's not afloat, but ashore;
And why somebody else has got his ship; and she behaved so beautifully in the battle, and he loves her quite as much as his wife, and rather better than the rest of his relations, for I asked him; and now he's afraid she will never belong to him any more.
I like him. I've seen him three times out walking with two sticks, when I was driving in the bath-chair, but I never talked to him till to-day.
He'd only one stick and a telescope, and he let me look through it at the big ship that was coming round the corner into the bay.
He was very kind, and let me ask questions. I said, "Are you a sea-captain?" and he said, "Yes." And I said, "How funny it is about land things and sea things!
There are captains and sea-captains, and weeds and sea-weeds, and serpents and sea-serpents. Did you ever meet one, and is it really like the dragons on our very old best blue tea-things?"
But he never did. So I asked him, "Have you got convalescence? Does your doctor say it is fairly established? Do your eyes ache if you try to read, and your neck if you draw, and your back if you sit up, and your head if you talk?
Don't you get tired of doing nothing, and worse tired still if you do anything; and does everything wobble about when you walk?
Wouldn't you rather go back to bed? I think I would. Don't you wish you were well? Wouldn't you rather be ill than only better? I do hate convalescence, don't you?"
Then I stopped asking, and he shut up his telescope, and sat down on the shingle, and said, "When you come to my age, little chap, you won't think 'What is it I'd rather have?' but, 'What is it I've got to do?'
'What have I got to do or to bear; and how can I do it or bear it best?'
That's the only safe point to make for, my lad. Make for it, and leave the rest!"
I said, "But wouldn't you rather be in battles than in bed, with your head aching as if it would split?"
And he said, "Of course I would; so would most men. But, my little convalescent, that's not it.
What would you think of a man who was ordered into battle, and went grumbling and wishing he were in bed?"
"What should I think of the fellow? Why, I should know he was a coward," I said.
"And if he were confined to bed," said the Sea-captain, "and lay grumbling and wishing he were in battle, I should give him no better a name;
For the courage that dares, and the courage that bears, are really one and the same."
Hold my hand, little Sister, and nurse my head, for I'm thinking, and I very much fear
You've had no good of being well since I was ill; I've led you such a life; but indeed I am obliged to you, dear!
Is it true that Nurse has got something the matter with her legs, and that Mary has gone home because she's worn out with nursing,
And won't be fit to work for months? (will she be convalescent, because it was such hard work waiting on me?) and did Cook say, "So much grumbling and complaining is nigh as big a sin as swearing and cursing"?
I wish I hadn't been so cross with poor Mary, and I wish I hadn't given so much trouble about my medicine and my food.
I didn't think about her. I only thought what a bother it was. I wish I hadn't thought so much about being miserable, that I never thought of trying to be good.
I believe the Sea-captain is right, and I shall tell him so to-morrow, when he comes here to tea;
He's going to look at my blackbird's leg, and if it is really set, he wants me to let it go free.
He says captivity is worse than convalescence, and so I should think it must be.
Are you tired, little Sister? You feel shaky. Don't beg my pardon; I beg yours. I've not let you go out of my sight for weeks. Get your things on, and have a gallop on Jack.
Ride round this way and let me see you. I won't say a word about wishing I was going too; and if my head gets bad whilst you're away, I will bear it my very best till you come back.
Tell me one thing before you start. If I learn to be patient, shall I learn to be brave, do you think? The Sea-captain says so.
He says, "Self-command is the making of a man," and he's a finely-made man himself, so he ought to know.
Perhaps, if I try hard at Convalescence now, I may become a brave sea-captain hereafter, and take my beautiful ship into battle, and bring her out again with flying colours and fame,
If the courage that dares, and the courage that bears, are really one and the same.
What was it?—that the doctor says is now fairly established both in me and my bird.
C-O-N-con, with a con, S-T-A-N-stan, with a stan—No! That's Constantinople, that is
The capital of the country where rhubarb-and-magnesia comes from, and I wish they would keep it in that country, and not send it to this.
C-O-N-con—how my head swims! Now I've got it! C-O-N-V-A-L-E-S-C-E-N-C-E.
Convalescence! And that's what the doctor says is now fairly established both in my blackbird and me.
He says it means that you are better, and that you'll be well by and by.
And so the Sea-captain says, and he says we ought to be friends, because we're both convalescents—at least we're all three convalescents, my blackbird, and the Captain and I.
He's a sea-captain, not a land-captain, but, all the same, he was in the war,
And he fought,—for I asked him,—and he's been ill ever since, and that's why he's not afloat, but ashore;
And why somebody else has got his ship; and she behaved so beautifully in the battle, and he loves her quite as much as his wife, and rather better than the rest of his relations, for I asked him; and now he's afraid she will never belong to him any more.
I like him. I've seen him three times out walking with two sticks, when I was driving in the bath-chair, but I never talked to him till to-day.
He'd only one stick and a telescope, and he let me look through it at the big ship that was coming round the corner into the bay.
He was very kind, and let me ask questions. I said, "Are you a sea-captain?" and he said, "Yes." And I said, "How funny it is about land things and sea things!
There are captains and sea-captains, and weeds and sea-weeds, and serpents and sea-serpents. Did you ever meet one, and is it really like the dragons on our very old best blue tea-things?"
But he never did. So I asked him, "Have you got convalescence? Does your doctor say it is fairly established? Do your eyes ache if you try to read, and your neck if you draw, and your back if you sit up, and your head if you talk?
Don't you get tired of doing nothing, and worse tired still if you do anything; and does everything wobble about when you walk?
Wouldn't you rather go back to bed? I think I would. Don't you wish you were well? Wouldn't you rather be ill than only better? I do hate convalescence, don't you?"
Then I stopped asking, and he shut up his telescope, and sat down on the shingle, and said, "When you come to my age, little chap, you won't think 'What is it I'd rather have?' but, 'What is it I've got to do?'
'What have I got to do or to bear; and how can I do it or bear it best?'
That's the only safe point to make for, my lad. Make for it, and leave the rest!"
I said, "But wouldn't you rather be in battles than in bed, with your head aching as if it would split?"
And he said, "Of course I would; so would most men. But, my little convalescent, that's not it.
What would you think of a man who was ordered into battle, and went grumbling and wishing he were in bed?"
"What should I think of the fellow? Why, I should know he was a coward," I said.
"And if he were confined to bed," said the Sea-captain, "and lay grumbling and wishing he were in battle, I should give him no better a name;
For the courage that dares, and the courage that bears, are really one and the same."
Hold my hand, little Sister, and nurse my head, for I'm thinking, and I very much fear
You've had no good of being well since I was ill; I've led you such a life; but indeed I am obliged to you, dear!
Is it true that Nurse has got something the matter with her legs, and that Mary has gone home because she's worn out with nursing,
And won't be fit to work for months? (will she be convalescent, because it was such hard work waiting on me?) and did Cook say, "So much grumbling and complaining is nigh as big a sin as swearing and cursing"?
I wish I hadn't been so cross with poor Mary, and I wish I hadn't given so much trouble about my medicine and my food.
I didn't think about her. I only thought what a bother it was. I wish I hadn't thought so much about being miserable, that I never thought of trying to be good.
I believe the Sea-captain is right, and I shall tell him so to-morrow, when he comes here to tea;
He's going to look at my blackbird's leg, and if it is really set, he wants me to let it go free.
He says captivity is worse than convalescence, and so I should think it must be.
Are you tired, little Sister? You feel shaky. Don't beg my pardon; I beg yours. I've not let you go out of my sight for weeks. Get your things on, and have a gallop on Jack.
Ride round this way and let me see you. I won't say a word about wishing I was going too; and if my head gets bad whilst you're away, I will bear it my very best till you come back.
Tell me one thing before you start. If I learn to be patient, shall I learn to be brave, do you think? The Sea-captain says so.
He says, "Self-command is the making of a man," and he's a finely-made man himself, so he ought to know.
Perhaps, if I try hard at Convalescence now, I may become a brave sea-captain hereafter, and take my beautiful ship into battle, and bring her out again with flying colours and fame,
If the courage that dares, and the courage that bears, are really one and the same.
THE ADVENTURES OF AN ELF.
A PICTURE POEM FOR THE LITTLE ONES.
By Fedor Flinzer. Freely translated by J.H. Ewing.
I.
Dear children, listen whilst I tell
What to a certain Elf befell,
Who left his house and sallied forth
Adventure seeking, south and north,
And west and east, by path and field,
Resolved to conquer or to yield.
A thimble on his back he carried,
With a rose-twig his foes he parried.
What to a certain Elf befell,
Who left his house and sallied forth
Adventure seeking, south and north,
And west and east, by path and field,
Resolved to conquer or to yield.
A thimble on his back he carried,
With a rose-twig his foes he parried.
II.
III.
IV.
V.
VI.
VII.
The mouse shrieked "Murder!" "Fire!" and "Thieves!"
And struggled through the twigs and leaves.
It pulled the reins with all its might,
Our hero only drew them tight.
Upon the mouse's back he leapt,
And like a man his seat he kept.
His steed was terribly affrighted,
But he himself was much delighted.
And struggled through the twigs and leaves.
It pulled the reins with all its might,
Our hero only drew them tight.
Upon the mouse's back he leapt,
And like a man his seat he kept.
His steed was terribly affrighted,
But he himself was much delighted.
VIII.
IX.
SONGS FOR MUSIC
SERENADE.
I would not have you wake for me,
Fair lady, though I love you!
And though the night is warm, and all
The stars are out above you;
And though the dew's so light it could
Not hurt your little feet,
And nightingales in yonder wood
Are singing passing sweet.
Fair lady, though I love you!
And though the night is warm, and all
The stars are out above you;
And though the dew's so light it could
Not hurt your little feet,
And nightingales in yonder wood
Are singing passing sweet.
Yet may my plaintive strain unite
And mingle with your dreaming,
And through the visions of the night
Just interweave my seeming.
Yet no! sleep on with fancy free
In that untroubled breast;
No song of mine, no thought of me,
Deserves to break your rest!
And mingle with your dreaming,
And through the visions of the night
Just interweave my seeming.
Yet no! sleep on with fancy free
In that untroubled breast;
No song of mine, no thought of me,
Deserves to break your rest!
MAIDEN WITH THE GIPSY LOOK.
Maiden with the gipsy look,
Dusky locks and russet hue,
Open wide thy Sybil's book,
Tell my fate and tell it true;
Shall I live? or shall I die?
Timely wed, or single be?
Maiden with the gipsy eye,
Read my riddle unto me!
Dusky locks and russet hue,
Open wide thy Sybil's book,
Tell my fate and tell it true;
Shall I live? or shall I die?
Timely wed, or single be?
Maiden with the gipsy eye,
Read my riddle unto me!
Maiden with the gipsy face,
If thou canst not tell me all,
Tell me thus much, of thy grace,
Should I climb, or fear to fall?
Should I dare, or dread to dare?
Should I speak, or silent be?
Maiden with the gipsy hair,
Read my riddle unto me!
If thou canst not tell me all,
Tell me thus much, of thy grace,
Should I climb, or fear to fall?
Should I dare, or dread to dare?
Should I speak, or silent be?
Maiden with the gipsy hair,
Read my riddle unto me!
Maiden with the gipsy hair,
Deep into thy mirror look,
See my love and fortune there,
Clearer than in Sybil's book:
Let me cross thy slender palm,
Let me learn my fate from thee;
Maiden with the gipsy charm,
Read my riddle unto me.
Deep into thy mirror look,
See my love and fortune there,
Clearer than in Sybil's book:
Let me cross thy slender palm,
Let me learn my fate from thee;
Maiden with the gipsy charm,
Read my riddle unto me.
AH! WOULD I COULD FORGET.
The whispering water rocks the reeds,
And, murmuring softly, laps the weeds;
And nurses there the falsest bloom
That ever wrought a lover's doom.
Forget me not! Forget me not!
Ah! would I could forget!
But, crying still, "Forget me not,"
Her image haunts me yet.
And, murmuring softly, laps the weeds;
And nurses there the falsest bloom
That ever wrought a lover's doom.
Forget me not! Forget me not!
Ah! would I could forget!
But, crying still, "Forget me not,"
Her image haunts me yet.
We wander'd by the river's brim,
The day grew dusk, the pathway dim;
Her eyes like stars dispell'd the gloom,
Her gleaming fingers pluck'd the bloom.
Forget me not! Forget me not!
Ah! would I could forget!
But, crying still, "Forget me not,"
Her image haunts me yet.
The day grew dusk, the pathway dim;
Her eyes like stars dispell'd the gloom,
Her gleaming fingers pluck'd the bloom.
Forget me not! Forget me not!
Ah! would I could forget!
But, crying still, "Forget me not,"
Her image haunts me yet.
The pale moon lit her paler face,
And coldly watch'd our last embrace,
And chill'd her tresses' sunny hue,
And stole that flower's turquoise blue.
Forget me not! Forget me not!
Ah! would I could forget!
But, crying still, "Forget me not,"
Her image haunts me yet.
And coldly watch'd our last embrace,
And chill'd her tresses' sunny hue,
And stole that flower's turquoise blue.
Forget me not! Forget me not!
Ah! would I could forget!
But, crying still, "Forget me not,"
Her image haunts me yet.
The fateful flower droop'd to death,
The fair, false maid forswore her faith;
But I obey a broken vow,
And keep those wither'd blossoms now!
Forget me not! Forget me not!
Ah! would I could forget!
But, crying still, "Forget me not,"
Her image haunts me yet.
The fair, false maid forswore her faith;
But I obey a broken vow,
And keep those wither'd blossoms now!
Forget me not! Forget me not!
Ah! would I could forget!
But, crying still, "Forget me not,"
Her image haunts me yet.
Sweet lips that pray'd—"Forget me not!"
Sweet eyes that will not be forgot!
Recall your prayer, forego your power,
Which binds me by the fatal flower.
Forget me not! Forget me not!
Ah! would I could forget!
But, crying still, "Forget me not,"
Her image haunts me yet.
Sweet eyes that will not be forgot!
Recall your prayer, forego your power,
Which binds me by the fatal flower.
Forget me not! Forget me not!
Ah! would I could forget!
But, crying still, "Forget me not,"
Her image haunts me yet.
MADRIGAL.
Life is full of trouble,
Love is full of care,
Joy is like a bubble
Shining in the air,
For you cannot
Grasp it anywhere.
Love is full of care,
Joy is like a bubble
Shining in the air,
For you cannot
Grasp it anywhere.
Love is not worth getting,
It doth fade so fast.
Life is not worth fretting
Which so soon is past;
And you cannot
Bid them longer last.
It doth fade so fast.
Life is not worth fretting
Which so soon is past;
And you cannot
Bid them longer last.
Yet for certain fellows
Life seems true and strong;
And with some, they tell us,
Love will linger long;
Thus they cannot
Understand my song.
Life seems true and strong;
And with some, they tell us,
Love will linger long;
Thus they cannot
Understand my song.
THE ELLEREE.[7]
A SONG OF SECOND SIGHT.
Elleree! O Elleree!
Seeing what none else may see,
Dost thou see the man in grey?
Dost thou hear the night hounds bay?
Elleree! O Elleree!
Seventh son of seventh son,
All thy thread of life is spun,
Thy little race is nearly run,
And death awaits for thee!
Seeing what none else may see,
Dost thou see the man in grey?
Dost thou hear the night hounds bay?
Elleree! O Elleree!
Seventh son of seventh son,
All thy thread of life is spun,
Thy little race is nearly run,
And death awaits for thee!
Elleree! O Elleree!
Coronach shall wail for thee;
Get thee shrived and get thee blest,
Get thee ready for thy rest,
Elleree! O Elleree!
That thou owest quickly give,
What thou ownest thou must leave,
And those thou lovest best shall grieve,
But all in vain for thee!
Coronach shall wail for thee;
Get thee shrived and get thee blest,
Get thee ready for thy rest,
Elleree! O Elleree!
That thou owest quickly give,
What thou ownest thou must leave,
And those thou lovest best shall grieve,
But all in vain for thee!
"Bodach Glas!"[8] the chieftain said,
"All my debts but one are paid,
All I love have long been dead,
All my hopes on Heaven are stay'd,
Death to me can bring no dole;"
Thus the Elleree replied;—
But with ebbing of the tide
As sinks the setting sun he died;—
May Christ receive his soul!
"All my debts but one are paid,
All I love have long been dead,
All my hopes on Heaven are stay'd,
Death to me can bring no dole;"
Thus the Elleree replied;—
But with ebbing of the tide
As sinks the setting sun he died;—
May Christ receive his soul!
[7] "Elleree" is the name of one who has the gift of second sight.
[8] "Bodach Glas," the Man in Grey, appears to a Highland family with the gift of second sight, presaging death.
OTHER STARS.
The night is dark, and yet it is not quite:
Those stars are hid that other orbs may shine;
Twin stars, whose rays illuminate the night,
And cheer her gloom, but only deepen mine;
For these fair stars are not what they do seem,
But vanish'd eyes remember'd in a dream.
Those stars are hid that other orbs may shine;
Twin stars, whose rays illuminate the night,
And cheer her gloom, but only deepen mine;
For these fair stars are not what they do seem,
But vanish'd eyes remember'd in a dream.
The night is dark, and yet it brings no rest;
Those eager eyes gaze on and banish sleep;
Though flaming Mars has lower'd his crimson crest,
And weary Venus pales into the deep,
These two with tender shining mock my woe
From out the distant heaven of long ago.
Those eager eyes gaze on and banish sleep;
Though flaming Mars has lower'd his crimson crest,
And weary Venus pales into the deep,
These two with tender shining mock my woe
From out the distant heaven of long ago.
The night is dark, and yet how bright they gleam!
Oh! empty vision of a vanish'd light!
Sweet eyes! must you for ever be a dream
Deep in my heart, and distant from my sight?
For could you shine as once you shone before,
The stars might hide their rays for evermore!
Oh! empty vision of a vanish'd light!
Sweet eyes! must you for ever be a dream
Deep in my heart, and distant from my sight?
For could you shine as once you shone before,
The stars might hide their rays for evermore!
FADED FLOWERS.
My love she sent a flower to me
Of tender hue and fragrance rare,
And with it came across the sea
A letter kind as she was fair;
But when her letter met mine eyes,
The flower, the little flower, was dead:
And ere I touched the tender prize
The hues were dim, the fragrance fled.
Of tender hue and fragrance rare,
And with it came across the sea
A letter kind as she was fair;
But when her letter met mine eyes,
The flower, the little flower, was dead:
And ere I touched the tender prize
The hues were dim, the fragrance fled.
I sent my love a letter too,
In happy hope no more to roam;
I bade her bless the vessel true
Whose gallant sails should waft me home.
But ere my letter reach'd her hand,
My love, my little love, was dead,
And when the vessel touch'd the land,
Fair hope for evermore had fled.
In happy hope no more to roam;
I bade her bless the vessel true
Whose gallant sails should waft me home.
But ere my letter reach'd her hand,
My love, my little love, was dead,
And when the vessel touch'd the land,
Fair hope for evermore had fled.
SPEED WELL.
What time I left my native land,
And bade farewell to my true love,
She laid a flower in my hand
As azure as the sky above.
"Speed thee well! Speed well!"
She softly whispered, "Speed well!
This flower blue
Be token true
Of my true heart's true love for you!"
And bade farewell to my true love,
She laid a flower in my hand
As azure as the sky above.
"Speed thee well! Speed well!"
She softly whispered, "Speed well!
This flower blue
Be token true
Of my true heart's true love for you!"
Its tender hue is bright and pure,
As heav'n through summer clouds doth show,
A pledge though clouds thy way obscure,
It shall not be for ever so.
"Speed thee well! Speed well!"
She softly whisper'd, "Speed well!
This flower blue
Be token true
Of my true heart's true love for you!"
As heav'n through summer clouds doth show,
A pledge though clouds thy way obscure,
It shall not be for ever so.
"Speed thee well! Speed well!"
She softly whisper'd, "Speed well!
This flower blue
Be token true
Of my true heart's true love for you!"
HOW MANY YEARS AGO?
How many years ago, love,
Since you came courting me?
Through oak-tree wood and o'er the lea,
With rosy cheeks and waistcoat gay,
And mostly not a word to say,—
How many years ago, love,
How many years ago?
Since you came courting me?
Through oak-tree wood and o'er the lea,
With rosy cheeks and waistcoat gay,
And mostly not a word to say,—
How many years ago, love,
How many years ago?
How many years ago, love,
Since you to Father spoke?
Between your lips a sprig of oak:
You were not one with much to say,
But Mother spoke for you that day,—
How many years ago, love,
How many years ago?
Since you to Father spoke?
Between your lips a sprig of oak:
You were not one with much to say,
But Mother spoke for you that day,—
How many years ago, love,
How many years ago?
So many years ago, love,
That soon our time must come
To leave our girl without a home;—
She's like her mother, love, you've said:
—At her age I had long been wed,—
How many years ago, love,
How many years ago?
That soon our time must come
To leave our girl without a home;—
She's like her mother, love, you've said:
—At her age I had long been wed,—
How many years ago, love,
How many years ago?
"WITH A DIFFERENCE."
I'm weary waiting here,
The chill east wind is sighing,
The autumn tints are sere,
The summer flowers are dying.
The river's sullen way
Winds on through vacant meadows,
The dying light of day
Strives vainly with the shadows.
The chill east wind is sighing,
The autumn tints are sere,
The summer flowers are dying.
The river's sullen way
Winds on through vacant meadows,
The dying light of day
Strives vainly with the shadows.
A footstep stirs the leaves!
The faded fields seem brighter,
The sunset gilds the sheaves,
The low'ring clouds look lighter.
The river sparkles by,
Not all the flowers are falling,
There's azure in the sky,
And thou, my love, art calling.
The faded fields seem brighter,
The sunset gilds the sheaves,
The low'ring clouds look lighter.
The river sparkles by,
Not all the flowers are falling,
There's azure in the sky,
And thou, my love, art calling.
THE LILY OF THE LAKE.
Over wastes of blasted heather,
Where the pine-trees stand together,
Evermore my footsteps wander,
Evermore the shadows yonder
Deepen into gloom.
Where there lies a silent lake,
No song-bird there its thirst may slake,
No sunshine now to whiteness wake
The water-lily's bloom.
Where the pine-trees stand together,
Evermore my footsteps wander,
Evermore the shadows yonder
Deepen into gloom.
Where there lies a silent lake,
No song-bird there its thirst may slake,
No sunshine now to whiteness wake
The water-lily's bloom.
Some sweet spring-time long departed,
I and she, the simple-hearted,
Bride and bridegroom, maid and lover,
Did that gloomy lake discover,
Did those lilies see.
There we wandered side by side.
There it was they said she died.
But ah! in this I know they lied!
She will return to me!
I and she, the simple-hearted,
Bride and bridegroom, maid and lover,
Did that gloomy lake discover,
Did those lilies see.
There we wandered side by side.
There it was they said she died.
But ah! in this I know they lied!
She will return to me!
FROM FLEETING PLEASURES.
A REQUIEM FOR ONE ALIVE.
From fleeting pleasures and abiding cares,
From sin's seductions and from Satan's snares,
From woes and wrath to penitence and prayers,
Veni in pace!
From sin's seductions and from Satan's snares,
From woes and wrath to penitence and prayers,
Veni in pace!
Sweet absolution thy sad spirit heal;
To godly cares that end in endless weal,
To joys man cannot think or speak or feel,
Vade in pace!
To godly cares that end in endless weal,
To joys man cannot think or speak or feel,
Vade in pace!
From this world's ways and being led by them,
From floods of evil thy youth could not stem,
From tents of Kedar to Jerusalem,
Veni in pace!
From floods of evil thy youth could not stem,
From tents of Kedar to Jerusalem,
Veni in pace!
Blest be thy worldly loss to thy soul's gain,
Blest be the blow that freed thee from thy chain,
Blest be the tears that wash thy spirit's stain,
Vade in pace!
Blest be the blow that freed thee from thy chain,
Blest be the tears that wash thy spirit's stain,
Vade in pace!
Oh, dead, and yet alive! Oh, lost and found!
Salvation's walls now compass thee around,
Thy weary feet are set on holy ground.
Veni in pace!
Salvation's walls now compass thee around,
Thy weary feet are set on holy ground.
Veni in pace!
Death gently garner thee with all the blest,
In heavenly habitations be thou guest;
To light perpetual and eternal rest,
Vade in pace!
In heavenly habitations be thou guest;
To light perpetual and eternal rest,
Vade in pace!
THE RUNAWAY'S RETURN.
It was on such a night as this,
Some long unreal years ago,
When all within were wrapp'd in sleep,
And all without was wrapp'd in snow,
The full moon rising in the east,
The old church standing like a ghost,
That, shivering in the wintry mist,
And breathless with the silent frost,
A little lad, I ran to seek my fortune on the main;
I marvel now with how much hope and with how little pain!
Some long unreal years ago,
When all within were wrapp'd in sleep,
And all without was wrapp'd in snow,
The full moon rising in the east,
The old church standing like a ghost,
That, shivering in the wintry mist,
And breathless with the silent frost,
A little lad, I ran to seek my fortune on the main;
I marvel now with how much hope and with how little pain!
It is of such a night as this,
In all the lands where I have been,
That memory too faithfully
Has painted the familiar scene.
By all the shores, on every sea,
In luck or loss, by night or day,
My highest hope has been to see
That home from which I ran away.
For this I toil'd, to this I look'd through many a weary year,
I marvel now with how much hope, and with how little fear.
In all the lands where I have been,
That memory too faithfully
Has painted the familiar scene.
By all the shores, on every sea,
In luck or loss, by night or day,
My highest hope has been to see
That home from which I ran away.
For this I toil'd, to this I look'd through many a weary year,
I marvel now with how much hope, and with how little fear.
On such a night at last I came,
But they were dead I loved of yore.
Ah, Mother, then my heart felt all
The pain it should have felt before!
I came away, though loth to come,
I clung, and yet why should I cling?
When all have gone who made it home,
It is the shadow, not the thing.
A homeless man, once more I seek my fortune on the main:
I marvel with how little hope, and with what bitter pain.
But they were dead I loved of yore.
Ah, Mother, then my heart felt all
The pain it should have felt before!
I came away, though loth to come,
I clung, and yet why should I cling?
When all have gone who made it home,
It is the shadow, not the thing.
A homeless man, once more I seek my fortune on the main:
I marvel with how little hope, and with what bitter pain.
FANCY FREE.
A GIRL'S SONG.
With bark and bound and frolic round
My dog and I together run;
While by our side a brook doth glide,
And laugh and sparkle in the sun.
We ask no more of fortune's store
Than thus at our sweet wills to roam:
And drink heart's ease from every breeze
That blows about the hills of home.
As, fancy free,
With game and glee,
We happy three
Dance down the glen.
My dog and I together run;
While by our side a brook doth glide,
And laugh and sparkle in the sun.
We ask no more of fortune's store
Than thus at our sweet wills to roam:
And drink heart's ease from every breeze
That blows about the hills of home.
As, fancy free,
With game and glee,
We happy three
Dance down the glen.
And yet they say that some fine day
This vagrant stream may serve a mill;
My doggy guard a master's yard;
My free heart choose another's will.
How this may fare we little care,
My dog and I, as still we run!
Whilst by our side the brook doth glide,
And laugh and sparkle in the sun.
For, fancy free,
With game and glee,
We happy three
Dance down the glen.
This vagrant stream may serve a mill;
My doggy guard a master's yard;
My free heart choose another's will.
How this may fare we little care,
My dog and I, as still we run!
Whilst by our side the brook doth glide,
And laugh and sparkle in the sun.
For, fancy free,
With game and glee,
We happy three
Dance down the glen.
MY LOVE'S GIFT.
You ask me what—since we must part—
You shall bring home to me;
Bring back a pure and faithful heart,
As true as mine to thee.
I ask not wealth nor fame,
I only ask for thee,
Thyself—and that dear self the same—
My love, bring back to me!
You shall bring home to me;
Bring back a pure and faithful heart,
As true as mine to thee.
I ask not wealth nor fame,
I only ask for thee,
Thyself—and that dear self the same—
My love, bring back to me!
You talk of gems from foreign lands,
Of treasure, spoil, and prize.
Ah, love! I shall not search your hands,
But look into your eyes.
I ask not wealth nor fame,
I only ask for thee,
Thyself—and that dear self the same—
My love, bring back to me!
Of treasure, spoil, and prize.
Ah, love! I shall not search your hands,
But look into your eyes.
I ask not wealth nor fame,
I only ask for thee,
Thyself—and that dear self the same—
My love, bring back to me!
You speak of glory and renown,
With me to share your pride,
Unbroken faith is all the crown
I ask for as your bride.
I ask not wealth nor fame,
I only ask for thee,
Thyself—and that dear self the same—
My love, bring back to me!
With me to share your pride,
Unbroken faith is all the crown
I ask for as your bride.
I ask not wealth nor fame,
I only ask for thee,
Thyself—and that dear self the same—
My love, bring back to me!
You bid me with hope's eager gaze
Behold fair fortune come.
I only dream I see your face
Beside the hearth at home.
I ask not wealth nor fame,
I do but ask for thee!
Thyself—and that dear self the same—
May God restore to me!
Behold fair fortune come.
I only dream I see your face
Beside the hearth at home.
I ask not wealth nor fame,
I do but ask for thee!
Thyself—and that dear self the same—
May God restore to me!