THE LOST LEADER. UST for a handful of silver Blot out his name, then; record one lost soul he left us, Just for a ribbon to stick in his coat Found the one gift of which Fortune bereft us, Lost all the others she lets us devote. They, with the gold to give, doled him out silver, So much was theirs who so little allowed. How all our copper had gone for his service! Rags were they purple, his heart had been proud. more, One task more declined, one more footpath untrod, One more triumph for devils and sorrow for angels, One wrong more to man, one more insult to God. Life's night begins; let him never come back to us: There would be doubt, hesitation and pain, Forced praise on our part-the glimmer of twilight, Never glad, confident morning again. We that had loved him so, followed him, Best fight on well, for we taught him; strike Oh, she was more mild than the summer And I half forgot in that radiant clime Was the spirit against whose love I sinned- But my whole life seemed, as the swift years The heart that was broken for me Poor heart! Cruelly broken for me! I told her an artist should wed his art- No other should lure me from mine apart, The heart that was breaking for me- Hopelessly breaking for me! I spoke of the beautiful years to come Poor heart! Broke, yet complained not, for me! I pressed her hand and rebuked her tears Lightly and carelessly; I said my triumphs should reach her ears, And left her alone with the dismal years rolled, More hollow and vain to be: Fame's bosom at best is hard and cold; Oh, I would have given all praise and gold For the heart that was broken for mePoor heart! Thanklessly broken for me! Sick with longing and hope and dread, She had wasted as though with grief, they said Poor child, poor child!—and was long since dead Ah! dead for the love of me. Poor heart! Broken, and vainly, for me! Weighed down by a woe too heavy to hold, She died unmurmuringly, And I, remorseful and unconsoled, I dream of the wasted days of old And the heart that was broken for me Poor heart! Broken so vainly for me! And my soul cries out in its bitter pain For the bliss that cannot be— For the love that never can come again, Right merry was I With sisters, brother, friends and all For the sweet young life that was lived in To answer to their sudden call, vain, To join the ring, to speed the chase, And the heart that was broken for To find each playmate's hiding-place me Poor heart! Broken and buried for me! ELIZABETH AKERS THE BLIND BOY'S SPEECH. And pass my hand across his brow, Yet, though delightful flew the hours HINK not that blindness makes me And, though I never longed to view THINK sad: My thoughts, like yours, are often glad; In dreams, their music meet my ear. I never saw my father's face, I never saw my mother smile: Beneath the blast the forests bend, The lake's black waves in tumult blend, The sight sublime enrapts my thought, But can my soul the scene enjoy JOHN SCOTT. While rock and glen and cave and coast The thunder of their feet; I saw him next alone, nor camp Nor chief his steps attended; Nor banner blazed, nor courser's tramp With war-cries proudly blended. He stood alone whom fortune high So lately seemed to deify; He who with Heaven contended Fled like a fugitive and slaveBehind, the foe; before, the wave. He stood-fleet, army, treasure, gone― Alone, and in despair, While wave and wind swept ruthless on For they were monarchs there, And Xerxes in a single bark, 'Where late his thousand ships were dark, Must all their fury dare. What a revenge, a trophy, this, For thee, immortal Salamis ! MISS M. A. JEWSBURY. |