O FILIA PULCHRA! 231 How O FILIA PULCHRA! OW your sweet face revives again If I may use the pretty name I called you when a girl. You are so young; while Time of me Has made a cruel prey, It has forgotten you, nor swept One grace of youth away. The same sweet face, the same sweet smile, What did you say? It was perchance Your mother that I knew? Ah, yes, of course, it must have been, And yet the same you seem, And for a moment, all these years Fled from me like a dream. Then what your mother would not give, The old man's privilegea kiss Just for your mother's sake. William Wetmore Story. SOME SOME DAY OF DAYS. OME day, some day of days, threading the street Unlooking for such grace, I shall behold your face! Some day, some day of days, thus may we meet. Perchance the sun may shine from skies of May, Or winter's icy chill Touch whitely vale and hill. What matter? I shall thrill Through every vein with summer on that day. Once more life's perfect youth will all come back, And for a moment there I shall stand fresh and fair, And drop the garment care, Once more my perfect youth will nothing lack. I shut my eyes now, thinking how 't will be, Will slip its long control, Forget the dismal dole Of dreary Fate's dark separating sea; AT NOON AND MIDNIGHT. 233 And glance to glance and hand to hand in greeting, The past with all its fears, Its silence and its tears, Its lonely yearning years, Shall vanish in the moment of that meeting. - Nora Perry. AT NOON AND MIDNIGHT. AR in the night, yet no rest for him! FAR pillow next his own The wife's sweet face in slumber pressed awake, alone! alone! The yet he In vain he courted sleep; one thought would ever in his heart arise, The harsh words that at noon had brought the teardrops to her eyes. Slowly on lifted arm he raised and listened. All was still as death. He touched her forehead as he gazed, and listened yet with bated breath, Still silently as though he prayed, his lips moved lightly as she slept For God was with him, and he laid his face with hers and wept. -James Whitcomb Riley. THE NEWLY WEDDED. TOW the rite is duly done, Now Now the word is spoken, And the spell has made us one Which may ne'er be broken: Rest we, dearest, in our home, — Roam we o'er the heather, From this hour the summer rose Sweeter breathes to charm us; From this hour the winter snows Lighter fall to harm us: Fair or foul on land or sea Come the wind or weather, Best or worst, whate'er they be, We shall share together. Death, who friend from friend can part, Brother rend from brother, Shall but link us, heart and heart, Closer to each other: We will call his anger play, Deem his dart a feather, THE BOAT OF MY LOVER. 235 When we meet him on our way Hand in hand together. THE BOAT OF MY LOVER. BOAT of my lover! go softly, go safely, O boat of my lover that bears him from me, From the homes of the clachan, from the burn sing ing sweetly, From the loch and the mountain he'll never more see. O boat of my lover! go softly, go safely, Thou bearest my soul with thee over the tide. I said not a word, but my heart it was breaking; For life is so short and the ocean so wide! O boat of my lover! go softly, go safely, Though the dear voice is silent, the kind hand is gone; But oh, love me, my lover, and I'll live till I find thee, Till our parting is over, and our dark days are done. Dinah Maria Muloch Craik. |