THE CALL TO BATTLE

Then the mother kissed her son, with tears

That o'er his dark locks fell:

"I bless, I bless thee o'er and o'er,

Yet I stay thee not- Farewell!

189

"One moment! but one moment give to parting thought or word!

It is no time for woman's tears when manhood's heart is stirred.

Bear but the memory of my love about thee in the

fight,

To breathe upon the avenging sword a spell of keener might."

And a maiden's fond adieu was heard,
Though deep, yet brief and low:
"In the vigil, in the conflict, love!
My prayer shall with thee go!"

"Come forth! come as the torrent comes when the winter's chain is burst!

So rushes on the land's revenge, in night and silence

nursed.

The night is passed, the silence o'er — on all our hills we rise:

We wait thee, youth! sleep, dream no more! the voice of battle cries."

There were sad hearts in a darkened home,
When the brave had left their bower;

But the strength of prayer and sacrifice
Was with them in that hour.

NIGHT-BLOWING FLOWERS

CHILDREN of Night! unfolding meekly, slowly,
To the sweet breathings of the shadowy hours,
When dark blue heavens look softest and most holy
And glow-worm light is in the forest bowers;
To solemn things and deep,

To spirit-haunted sleep,
To thoughts all purified
From earth, ye seem allied,

O dedicated flowers!

Ye, from the gaze of crowds your beauty veiling,
Keep in dim vestal urns the sweetness shrined;
Till the mild moon, on high serenely sailing,
Looks on you tenderly and sadly kind.
-So doth Love's dreaming heart
Dwell from the throng apart,

And but to shades disclose

The inmost thought, which glows
With its pure life entwined.

Shut from the sounds wherein the day rejoices,
To no triumphant song your petals thrill,
But send forth odours with the faint soft voices
Rising from hidden streams, when all is still.

THE WANDERER AND THE NIGHT-FLOWERS 191

THE WANDERER AND THE NIGHT-FLOWERS

CALL back your odours, lovely flowers!
From the night-winds call them back;
And fold your leaves till the laughing Hours
Come forth in the sunbeam's track!

The lark lies couched in her grassy nest,
And the honey-bee is gone,

And all bright things are away to rest
Why watch ye here alone?

Is not your world a mournful one,

When your sisters close their eyes,

And your soft breath meets not a lingering tone
Of song in the starry skies?

Take ye no joy in the dayspring's birth,
When it kindles the sparks of dew?

And the thousand strains of the forest's mirth,
Shall they gladden all but you?

Shut your sweet bells till the fawn comes out
On the sunny turf to play,

And the woodland child with a fairy shout
Goes dancing on its way!

"Nay! let our shadowy beauty bloom When the stars give quiet light, And let us offer our faint perfume

On the silent shrine of Night.

"Call it not wasted, the scent we lend
To the breeze, when no step is nigh:
Oh, thus for ever the earth should send
Her grateful breath on high !

"And love us as emblems, Night's dewy flowers,
Of hopes unto sorrow given,

That spring through the gloom of the darkest hours Looking alone to heaven!"

THE SWAN AND THE SKYLARK

"Adieu, adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades

Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades."-KEATS.

"Higher still and higher

From the earth thou springest;

Like a cloud of fire

The blue deep thou wingest;

And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest."-SHELLEY.

MIDST the long reeds that o'er a Grecian stream
Unto the faint wind sighed melodiously,
And where the sculpture of a broken shrine
Sent out thro' shadowy grass and thick wild-flowers
Dim alabaster gleams,- -a lonely swan

Warbled his death chant. And a poet stood
Listening to that strange music, as it shook
The lilies on the wave, and made the pines
And all the laurels of the haunted shore
Thrill to its passion. Oh! the tones were sweet,
Even painfully-as with the sweetness wrung
From parting love; and to the poet's thought
This was their language.

THE SWAN AND THE SKYLARK

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"O SUMMER! I depart

O light and laughing summer! fare-thee-well:

No song the less through thy rich woods will swell, For one, one broken heart.

"And fare-ye-well, young flowers!

Ye will not mourn! ye will shed odour still,
And wave in glory, colouring every rill,

Known to my youth's fresh hours.

"And ye, bright founts! that lie

Far in the whispering forests, lone and deep,
My wing no more shall stir your shadowy sleep-
Sweet waters! I must die.

"Will ye not send one tone

Of sorrow through the pines?- one murmur low? Shall not the green leaves from your voices know That I, your child, am gone?

"No! ever glad and free

Ye have no sounds a tale of death to tell:
Waves, joyous waves! flow on, and fare-ye-well!
Ye will not mourn for me.

"But thou, sweet boon! too late

Poured on my parting breath, vain gift of song! Why com'st thou thus, o'ermastering, rich and strong, In the dark hour of fate?

"Only to wake the sighs

Of echo-voices from their sparry cell;
Only to say-O sunshine and blue skies!
O life and love! farewell!”

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