The wind dies not a leaf stirs - on the
Pool

The fly scarce moves; earth seems to hold her breath

Until her heart stops, listening silently For the far footsteps of the coming rain!

While thus I pause, it seems that I have gain'd

New eyes to see; my brain grows sensitive
To trivial things that, at another hour,
Had pass'd unheeded. Suddenly the air
Shivers, the shadows in whose midst I
stand
Tremble and blacken -
Pool
Is clos'd and clouded; with a sudden gleam
Oiling its wings, a swallow darteth past,
And weedling flowers beneath my feet

thrust up

the blue eye o' the

Their leaves, to feel the fragrant shower. Oh, hark!

The thirsty leaves are troubled into sighs, And up above me, on the glistening boughs, Patters the summer rain!

Into a nook,

Screen'd by thick foliage of oak and beech, I creep for shelter; and the summer shower Murmurs around me. Oh, the drowsy sounds!

The pattering rain, the numerous sigh cf leaves,

The deep, warm breathing of the scented air,

Sink sweet into my soul-until at last Comes the soft ceasing of the gentle fall, And lo! the eye of blue within the Pool Opens again, while with a silvern gleam Dew-diamonds twinkle moistly on the leaves,

Or, shaken downward by the summer wind, Fall melting on the Pool in rings of light!

I could not see a kirkyard near or far;
I thirsted for a green grave, and my vision
Was weary for the white gleam of a tomb-

stone.

But harkening dumbly, ever and anon
I heard a cry out of a human dwelling,
And felt the cold wind of a lost one's going.

One struck a brother fiercely, and he fell,
And faded in a darkness; and that other
Tore his hair, and was afraid, and could
not perish.

One struck his aged mother on the mouth, And she vanish'd with a gray grief from his hearth-stone.

One melted from her bairn, and on the ground

With sweet unconscious eyes the bairn lay smiling.

And many made a weeping among mountains,

And hid themselves in caverns, and were drunken.

So far, so far to seek for were the limits Of affliction; and men's terror grew a homeless

Terror, yea, and a fatal sense of blankness.

There was no little token of distraction, There was no visible presence of bereavement,

Such as the mourner easeth out his heart

on.

There was no comfort in the slow farewell,
No gentle shutting of beloved eyes,
Nor beautiful broodings over sleeping fea-
tures.

There were no kisses on familiar faces, No weaving of white grave-clothes, no last pondering

Over the still wax cheeks and folded fingers.

There was no putting tokens under pillows, There was no dreadful beauty slowly fading, Fading like moonlight softly into darkness.

There were no churchyard paths to walk on, thinking

How near the well-beloved ones are lying. There were no sweet green graves to sit and muse on,

Till grief should grow a summer meditation,

The shadow of the passing of an angel, And sleeping should seem easy, and not cruel.

Nothing but wondrous parting and a blankness.

But I woke, and, lo! the burthen was uplifted,

And I pray'd within the chamber where she slumber'd,

And my tears flow'd fast and free, but were not bitter.

I eas'd my heart three days by watching

near her,

And made her pillow sweet with scent and flowers,

And could bear at last to put her in the darkness.

THE FAERY FOSTER-MOTHER

BRIGHT Eyes, Light Eyes! Daughter of a Fay!

I had not been a wedded wife a twelvemonth and a day,

I had not nurs'd my little one a month upon my knee,

When down among the blue-bell banks rose elfins three times three, They gripp'd me by the raven hair, I could not cry for fear,

They put a hempen rope around my waist and dragg'd me here,

They made me sit and give thee suck as mortal mothers can,

Bright Eyes, Light Eyes! strange and weak and wan!