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Look down on the scene below,
Kiss those footsteps in the snow,
AUTHOR TO COMPOSER.
By voice notes rendered sweet;
And fond and faithful meet.
Yield's him a joy intense ;
Heart echoing the sense.
Shall drink of Lethe's spring;
words may read,
Enshrined for many a day;
When we have passed away.
Una Pittúra. Chesnut hair of rich luxuriance rolled in many a massy
foldO'er her forehead crinkled wavelets rob the sunshine of
its gold. Seated in the oriel window, where the summer glory O’er her purple silk-clad shoulders, and with varied
radiance beams; Shines amid the mazy threadings that reflect the am
bient light, Gleaming with a golden glory, crowning with that
radiance bright. And the chesnut's pink-stained blossoms with her love
liness compare, Sweeter than the lily's paleness, cream of beauty full
and fair. From the garden she has entered like a newly-gathered
flower, Bringing all the perfume freshness of the morning's
brightest hour: On a seat her hat is lying, just now it was cast aside, And her jeweled hand is toying with a humming bird's
Now she looks up and those clear eyes, speaking with a
Bid you welcome to the friendship of a truly handsome
face,Bid you with retiring glances, be observant of your
place: Veil your gaze with due obeisance she is of a royal race. From Athene the glaucopis came those eyes of cæsian
ray Constant in their hyaline changes, “ love me not” they
What see I there?
Braid her ebon hair;
Whilst her orisons are said.
What see I now ?
And the lamp's pale glow
Half in shadow, half in light.
Sweet the breath of Jessamine
In the dusky air;
On her pillow fair,
Giving odour in repose.
And the cottage lorn;
Like an amulet worn,
In that trellis-chamber white.
THE PRIMROSE PATH.
April days when the clouds reveal
Glimpses of azure sky,
From their winter nooks and try,
In gleams of sunshine to fly.
Like the sound of the marriage bells ;
Whose tremulous musical memories sway
The soul where a pure love dwells:
idle fear: When the almond tree blossom first opened its leaves Like a sweet hope mid loneliness drear;
First blossom of love how dear:
How inexpressibly dear.
There is nothing so sweet so dear;
Like the primrose path of the year.
A dew drop lies on the bosom sweet
And a single violet grows
A single violet grows,
In the morning's early hour.
Drinks the hue of the deeper flower:
A far thought of a purple power!
In that early morning hour.
Was it a dream or true ?
a As they first walked forth in the snow; The listening doubt of an unwhispered thought
Feared to ask, lest a voice should say no !
For the witch-elms stretched their thin bare arms
With a leafless meaning of No.
But the heart refuses to yield;
A touch of a soft hand near.
Said alternately “live and die."
Sleep, weary questioner, sleep,
Sink into calm repose ;
The beauty of day arose."
Is it the sound of bells !
Or only the thought of a sound In the listener's heart that rises and swells Where hyacinths colour the ground ? Wild hyacinths bending like pensive maids In the young green taper grass : Unknown to them the sorrowing mark Of Apollo's AI; alas ! Yes, in the far distance marriage bells ringing, Stirring the primroses seen in the lake. Fancy's wild wood notes the harebells are swinging, Sweet sleeping memories fondly awake!