"And is that all? Have you told me the best?" "No, neither the best nor the end. On summer eves, away in the west, You will see a stair ascend,
"Built of all colors of lovely stones,
A stair up into the sky
Where no one is weary, and no one moans,
Or wants to be laid by."
"I will go." "But the steps are very steep;
If you would climb up there,
You must lie at the foot, as still as sleep,
A very step of the stair."
VERSE, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying,
Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee-
Both were mine! Life went a-Maying
With Nature, Hope, and Poesy,
When I was young!
When I was young
g?— Ah, woful when!
Ah, for the change 'twixt Now and Then!
This breathing house not built with hands,
This body that does me grievous wrong,
O'er aery cliffs and glittering sands
How lightly then it flash'd along:
Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore,
On winding lakes and rivers wide,
That ask no aid of sail or oar,
That fear no spite of wind or tide!
Nought cared this body for wind or weather When Youth and I lived in't together.
Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like;
Friendship is a sheltering tree;
Oh, the joys, that came down shower-like,
Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty,
Ere I was old? Ah woful Ere,
Which tells me, Youth's no longer here!
O Youth! for years so many and sweet
'Tis known that thou and I were one;
I'll think it but a fond conceit -
It cannot be, that thou art gone!
Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll'd:
And thou wert aye a masker bold!
What strange disguise hast now put on
To make believe that thou art gone?
I see these locks in silvery slips,
This drooping gait, this alter'd size:
But Springtide blossoms on thy lips,
And tears like sunshine from thine eyes!
Life is but Thought: so think I will
That Youth and I are housemates still.
Dew-drops are the gems of morning,
But the tears of mournful eve!
Where no hope is, life's a warning
That only serves to make us grieve
When we are old:
That only serves to make us grieve
With oft and tedious taking-leave,
Like some poor nigh-related guest
That may not rudely be dismisst,
Yet hath out-stay'd his welcome while,
And tells the jest without the smile.
O STREAM descending to the sea,
Thy mossy banks between,
The flowerets blow, the grasses grow,
The leafy trees are green.
In garden plots the children play,
The fields the laborers till,
And houses stand on either hand,
And thou descendest still.
O life descending into death,
Our waking eyes behold,
Parent and friend thy lapse attend,
Companions young and old.
Strong purposes our minds possess,
Our hearts affections fill,
We toil and earn, we seek and learn,
And thou descendest still.
O end to which our currents tend,
Inevitable sea,
To which we flow, what do we know,
What shall we guess of thee?
A roar we hear upon thy shore,
As we our course fulfil;
Scarce we divine a sun will shine
And be above us still.
Through a quiet dream!
Humble voyagers are we,
Husband, wife, and children three
(One is lost, an angel, fled
To the azure overhead!)
Touch us gently, Time!
We've not proud nor soaring wings:
Our ambition, our content
Lies in simple things.
Humble voyagers are we,
O'er Life's dim unsounded sea,
Seeking only some calm clime :-
Touch us gently, gentle Time!
Of your trouble, Ben, to ease me, I will tell what man would please me. I would have him if I could
Noble; or of greater blood;
Titles, I confess, do take me,
And a woman God did make me;
French to boot, at least in fashion,
And his manners of that nation.
Young I'd have him too, and fair,
Yet a man; with crispèd hair,
Cast in thousand snares and rings,
For love's fingers and his wings:
Chestnut color, or more slack,
Gold upon a ground of black.
Venus and Minerva's eyes,
For he must look wanton-wise.
Eyebrows bent like Cupid's bow,
Front, an ample field of snow;
Even nose, and cheek withal,
Smooth as is the billiard-ball;
Chin as woolly as the peach;
And his lip should kissing teach,
Till he cherished too much beard,
And made Love or me afeard.
He should have a hand as soft
As the down, and show it oft;
Skin as smooth as any rush,
And so thin tc see a blush
Rising through it, ere it came;
All his blood should be a flame,
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