THE MURDERED TRAVELLER. The fragrant birch, above him, hung And many a vernal blossom sprung, The red-bird warbled, as he wrought But there was weeping far away, With watching many an anxious day, Were sorrowful and dim. They little knew, who loved him so, When shouting o'er the desert snow, Nor how, when round the frosty pole The mountain wolf and wild-cat stole Nor how, when strangers found his bones, They dressed the hasty bier, And marked his grave with nameless stones, Unmoistened by a tear. ANGELS BY THE DOOR. O! THERE be angels evermwore, Though doors be shut, an' bars be stout, An' zoo the daes a-stealèn by, Do bring us things to leave us sad, Do teäke, in stillness, each his turn; Or even end-My Meärianne. But still, if we can only beäre, COME BACK! As we do wander to an' fro, But there be jays I'd soonest choose The moonlight sheädes o' my own bower, At evenèn-tide-My Meärianne. WILLIAM BARNES. COME BACK! COME from your long, long roving, Where your sails have been unfurling, Sorrowful, sinful, and lonely, All are as nothing, if only You turn from the tempter to me. EPITHALAMIUM. Of men though you be unforgiven, ANONYMOUS. EPITHALAMIUM. I SAW two clouds at morning, I thought that morning cloud was blest, I saw two summer currents Flow smoothly to their meeting, Calm was their course through banks of Such be your gentle motion, Till life's last pulse shall beat; green, Like Summer's beam, and Summer's stream, A calmer sea, where storms shall cease, A purer sky, where all is peace. JOHN GARDNER CALKINS Brainard. |