THREE SONNETS TO A COQUETTE.

CARESS'D or chidden by the dainty hand,

And singing airy trifles this or that,

Light Hope at Beauty's call would perch and stand,
And run thro' every change of sharp and flat;
And Fancy came and at her pillow sat,
When sleep had bound her in his rosy band,
And chased away the still-recurring gnat,
And woke her with a lay from fairy land.
But now they live with Beauty less and less,
For Hope is other Hope and wanders far,
Nor cares to lisp in love's delicious creeds;
And Fancy watches in the wilderness,
Poor Fancy sadder than a single star,

That sets at twilight in a land of reeds.

2.

The form, the form alone is eloquent !

A nobler yearning never broke her rest Than but to dance-and sing, be gayly drest, And win all eyes with all accomplishment: Yet in the waltzing-circle as we went, My fancy made me for a moment blest To find my heart so near the beauteous breast That once had power to rob it of content. A moment came the tenderness of tears, The phantom of a wish that once could move, A ghost of passion that no smiles restore For ah! the slight coquette, she cannot love, And if you kiss'd her feet a thousand years, She still would take the praise, and care no more.

3.

Wan Sculptor, weepest thou to take the cast

Of those dead lineaments that near thee lie?
O sorrowest thou, pale Painter, for the past,
In painting some dead friend from memory?
Weep on beyond his object Love can last :

His object lives: more cause to weep have I:
My tears, no tears of love, are flowing fast,

No tears of love, but tears that Love can die.

I pledge her not in any cheerful cup,

Nor care to sit beside her where she sits Ah pity hint it not in human tones, But breathe it into earth and close it up With secret death forever, in the pits

Which some green Christmas crams with weary bones.

SONG.

LADY, let the rolling drums

Beat to battle where thy warrior stands:
Now thy face across his fancy comes,
And gives the battle to his hands.

Lady, let the trumpets blow,
Clasp thy little babes about thy knee:
Now their warrior father meets the foe,
And strikes him dead for thine and thee.

SONG.

HOME they brought him slain with spears.
They brought him home at even-fall:

All alone she sits and hears

Echoes in his empty hall,

Sounding on the morrow.

The Sun peep'd in from open field,
The boy began to leap and prance,
Rode upon his father's lance,

Beat upon his father's shield

"O hush, my joy, my sorrow."

ON A MOURNER.

NATURE, so far as in her lies,

Imitates God, and turns her face
To every land beneath the skies,

Counts nothing that she meets with base,
But lives and loves in every place ;

2.

Fills out the homely quickset-screens,
And makes the purple lilac ripe,
Steps from her airy hill, and greens

The swamp, where hums the dropping snipe,
With moss and braided marish-pipe ;

3.

And on thy heart a finger lays,

Saying, "Beat quicker, for the time
Is pleasant, and the woods and ways
Are pleasant, and the beech and line
Put forth and feel a gladder clime."

4.

And murmurs of a deeper voice,

Going before to some far shrine,
Teach that sick heart the stronger choice,
Till all thy life one way incline
With one wide will that closes thine.

5.

And when the zoning eve has died

Where yon dark valleys wind forlorn,
Come Hope and Memory, spouse and bride,
From out the borders of the morn,
With that fair child betwixt them born.

6.

And when no mortal motion jars

The blackness round the tombing sod,

Thro' silence and the trembling stars

Comes Faith from tracts no feet have trod,

And Virtue, like a household god

7.

Promising empire; such as those

That once at dead of night did greet Troy's wandering prince, so that he rose With sacrifice, while all the fleet

Had rest by stony hills of Crete.