Abbildungen der Seite

And if some friend we love is lying low,

Where human kisses cannot reach his face.

Oh, do not blame the loving Father so. But wear your sorrow with obedient grace!

And you shall shortly know that

lengthened breath Is not the sweetest gift God sends

His friend, and that, sometimes, the sable pall

of death

Conceals the fairest boon His love can send. [life. If we could push ajar the gates of And stand within and all God's workings see,

We could interpret all this doubt and strife [key. And for each mystery could find a

But not to-day. Then be content,

poor heart; God's plans like lilies pure and

white unfold; We must not tear the close-shut

leaves apart, (gold. Time will reveal the calyxes of And if. through patient toil, we

reach the land Where tired feet, with sandals

loosed, may rest, When we shall clearly know and

understand, I think that we shall say, "God

knew the best!"

Caroline Bowles Southey.


Launch thy bark, mariner!

Christian, God speed thee; Let loose the rudder bands,

Good angels lead thee! Set thy sails warily.

Tempests will come; Steer thy course steadily.

Christian, steer home!

Look to the weather bow.

Breakers are round thee; Let fall the plummet now.

Shallows may ground thee.
Reef in the foresail, there!

Hold the helm fast!
So — let the vessel wear,—

There swept the blast.

What of the night, watchman?

What of the night? "Cloudy, all quiet,—

No land yet, —all's right."
Be wakeful, be vigilant, —

Danger may be
At an hour when all seemeth

Securest to thee.

How! gains the leak so fast?
Clear out the hold, —

Hoist up thy merchandise,

Heave out thy gold; There, let the ingots go; —

Now the ship lights; Hurrah! the harbor's near, —

Lo! the red lights.

Slacken not sail yet

At inlet or island; Straight for the beacon steer,

Straight for the high land; Crowd all thy canvas on.

Cut through the foam; — Christian! cast anchor now,—

Heaven is thy home!


Tread softly! bow the head — In reverent silence bowl

No passing belldoth toll;

Yet an immortal soul
Is passing now.

Stranger, however great.

With lowly reverence bow! There's one in that poor shed — One by that paltry bed — Greater than thou.

Beneath that beggar's roof,

Lo! Death doth keep his state!
Enter! — no crowds attend —
Enter! — no guards defend
This palace gate.

That pavement damp and cold
No smiling courtiers tread;

One silent woman stands.

Lifting with meagre hands
A dying head.

No mingling voices sound —

An infant wail alone; A sob suppressed — again That short deep gasp — and then

The parting groan!

O change! — O wondrous change!

Burst are the prison bars! This moment there, so low, So agonized — and now

Beyond the stars!

O change! — stupendous change!

There lies the soulless clod!
The sun eternal breaks;
The new immortal wakes —

Wakes with his God.


I Never cast a flower away,
The gift of one who cared for me —

A little flower — a faded flower—
But it was done reluctantly.


I never looked a last adieu
To things familiar, but my heart

Shrank with a feeling almost pain
Even from their lifelessness to part.

I never spoke the word " Farewell," But with an utterance faint and broken;

An earth-sick longing for the time When it shall nevermore be spoken,

Robert Southey.

[From Thaiaba.)


Alas! the setting sun
Saw Zeinab in her bliss,
Hodeirah's wife beloved.
Alas! the wife beloved.
The fruitful mother late,
Whom when the daughters of Arabia

They wished their lot like hers,—
She wanders o'er the desert sands

A wretched widow now;
The fruitful mother of so fair a race,

With only one preserved.
She wanders o'er the w ilderness.

No tear relieved the burden of her heart; Stunned with the heavy woe, she felt like one. Half-wakened from a midnight dream of blood. But sometimes, when the boy

Would wet her hand with tears, And, looking up to her fixed countenance.

Sob out the name of mother! then she groaned. At length collecting, Zeinab turned her eyes

To heaven, and praised the Lord: "He gave, he takes away!" The pious sufferer cried;

"The Lord our God is good!"

"Good, is he?" quoth the boy:
"Why are my brethren and my sis-
ters slain?
Why is my father killed?
Did ever we neglect our prayers,
Or ever lift a hand unclean to
Did ever stranger from our tent
Unwelcomed turn away?
Mother, He is not good!"

Then Zeinab beat her breast in
agony, —
"O God, forgive the child I

He knows not what he says; Thou know'st I did not teach him thoughts like these; O Prophet, pardon him!"

She had not wept till that assuaging prayer; The fountains of her grief were opened then, And tears relieved her heart. She raised her swimming eyes to heaven, — "Allah! thy will be done! Beneath the dispensations of that will

I groan, but murmur not. A day will come when all things that are dark Will be made clear: then shall I know, O Lord! Why, in thy mercy, thou hast stricken me; Then see and understand what now

My heart believes and feels."

[From Tftalaba.]

"Repine not, O my son!" the old man replied, "That Heaven hath chastened thee, Beboid this vine: I found it a wild tree, whose wanton strength Hail swoln into irregular twigs.

And bold excrescences, And spent itself in leaves and little rings; So, in the flourish of its outwardness. Wasting the sap and strength That should have given forth fruit.

But when I pruned the plant.

Then it grew temperate in its vain expense Of useless leaves, and knotted, as thou seest, Into these full, clear clusters, to repay

The hand that wisely wounded it.

Repine not, O my son! In wisdom and in mercy Heaven inflicts

Its painful remedies."

[From Thalaba.]


A I.I. things have a double power. Alike for good and evil. The same fire,

That on the comfortable hearth at eve

Warmed the good man, flames o'er the house at night: Should we for this forego The needful element? Because the scorching summer sun

Darts fever, wouldst thou quench the orb of day? Or deemest thou that Heaven in anger formed Iron to till the field, because,

when man had tipt his arrows for the chase, he rushed A murderer to the war?

[From Thalaba.]

How beautiful is night !
A dewy freshness fills the silent

No mist obscures, nor cloud nor speck nor stain Breaks the serene of heaven; In full-orbed glory yonder moon divine

Rolls through the dark blue

Beneath her steady ray
The desert-circle spreads.
Like the round ocean, girdled with

the skv.
How beautiful is night!
[From The Curse of Kehama.]

They sin who tell us love can die.
With life all other passions fly,

All others are but vanity.
In heaven, Ambition cannot dwell,
Nor Avarice in the vaults of hell;
Earthly, these passions of the earth
They perish where they had their

But Love is indestructible,
Its holy name forever burneth,
From heaven it came, to heaven re-

Too oft on earth a troubled guest.
At times deceived, at times oppressed,

It here is tried and purified,
Then hath in heaven its perfect rest;
It soweth here with toil and care,
But the harvest-time of Love is there.
Oh! when a mother meets on high
The babe she lost in infancy.
Hath she not then, for pains and

The day of woe. the watchful night, For all her sorrows, all her tears, An over-payment of delight!


You are old, Father William, the young man cried, The few locks that are left you are gray:

You are hale. Father William, a hearty old man. Now tell me the reason, I pray.

In the days of my youth, Father William replied, I remembered that youth would flv fast,

And abused not my health and my vigor at first, That I never might need them at last.

You are old, Father William, the young man cried, And" pleasures with youth pass away,

And yet you lament not the days that are gone, Now tell me the reason, I pray.

In the days of my youth, Father William replied, I remembered that youth could not last;

I thought of the future, whatever I did.

That I never might grieve for the past.

You are old, Father William, the
young man cried,
And life must be hastening away:
You are cheerful, and love to con-
verse upon death!
Now tell me the reason, I pray.

I am cheerful, young man, Father
William replied;
Let the cause thy attention engage;
In the days of my youth I remem-
bered my God!
And he hath not forgotten my age.

[From Joan of Arc]


Scarce had the earliest ray from

Chi non's towers Made visible the mists that curled


The winding waves of Vienne, when

from her couch Started the martial maid. She

mailed her limbs; The white plumes nodded o'er her

helmed head; She girt the sacred falchion by her


And, like some youth that from his

mother's arms, For his first field impatient, breaks


Poising the lance went forth.

Twelve hundred men, rearing in ordered ranks their wellsharped spears,

Await her coming. Terrible in arms, Before them towered Dunois, his

manly face Dark-shadowed by the helmet's iron


The assembled court gazed on the

marshalled train, And at the gate the aged prelate stood To pour his blessing on the chosen


And now a soft and solemn symphony

Was heard, and chanting high the hallowed hymn,

From the near convent came the vestal maids.

A holy banner, woven by virgin hands,

Snow-white, they bore. A mingled

sentiment Of awe, and eager ardor for the


Thrilled through the troops, as he, the reverend man

Took the white standard, and with heavenward eye

Called on the God of Justice, blessing it.

The maid, her brows in reverence unhelmed,

Her dark hair floating on the morning gale.

Knelt to his prayer, and stretching

forth her hand, Received the mystic ensign. From

the host

A loud and universal shout burst forth.

As rising from the ground, on her

white brow She placed the plumed casque, and

waved on high The bannered lilies.


O Reader! hast thou ever stood to


The holly-tree? The eye that contemplates it well perceives Its glossy leaves

Ordered by an intelligence so wise As might confound the atheist's sophistries.

Below, a circling fence, its leaves are


Wrinkled and keen, No grazing cattle through their prickly round Can reach to wound; But as they grow where nothing is to fear,

Smooth and unarmed the pointless leaves appear.

I love to view these things with cu-
rious eyes,
And moralize;
And in the wisdom of the holly-tree

Can emblems see
Wherewith perchance to make a

pleasant rhyme, Such as may profit in the after-time.

So, though abroad perchance I might appear Harsh and austere, To those who on my leisure would intrude Reserved and rude; Gentle at home amid my friends I'd be.

Like the high leaves upon the hollytree.

And should my youth, as youth is apt,
I know.
Some harshness show.
All vain asperities, I day by day

Would wear away,
Till the smooth temper of my age

should be Like the high leaves upon the hollytree.

And as when all the summer trees are seen So bright and green The holly leaves their fadeless hues display Less bright than they. But when the bare and wintry woods we see,

What then so cheerful as the hollytree?

« ZurückWeiter »