His sword, that dripped by me and swung, For he began to say the while How South our home lay many a mile. So 'mid the shouting multitude We two walked forth to never more Return. My cousins have pursued Their life, untroubled as before I vexed them. Gauthier's dwelling-place God lighten! May his soul find grace! Our elder boy has got the clear Great brow; tho' when his brother's black How many birds it struck since May. J. THE LOST LEADER. UST for a handful of silver he left us, Rags, were they purple, his heart had been proud! We that had loved him so, followed him, honored him, Lived in his mild and magnificent eye, Learned his great language, caught his clear accents, Shakespeare was of us, Milton was for us, Burns, Shelley, were with us, they watch from their graves! He alone breaks from the van and the freemen, He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves! We shall march prospering, —not through his presence; Songs may inspirit us, - not from his lyre; Deeds will be done, while he boasts his quiescence, THE LOST MISTRESS. Blot out his name, then, - record one lost soul more, Best fight on well, for we taught him, — strike gallantly, THE LOST MISTRESS. LL'S over, then, - does truth sound bitter A1 As one at first believes? Hark, 't is the sparrows' good-night twitter And the leaf-buds on the vine are woolly, One day more bursts them open fully, You know the red turns gray. To-morrow we meet the same then, dearest ? May I take your hand in mine? Mere friends are we, Keep much that I'll resign: For each glance of that eye so bright and black, 27 - Yet I will but say what mere friends say, I will hold your hand but as long as all may, HOME THOUGHTS, FROM ABROAD. O H, to be in England Now that April's there, And whoever wakes in England Sees, some morning, unaware, That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough And after April, when May follows, And the white-throat builds, and all the swallows, - The first fine, careless rapture! And though the fields look rough with hoary dew, The buttercups, the little children's dower, THE FLOWER'S NAME. 29 N° HOME THOUGHTS, FROM THE SEA. OBLY, nobly Cape Saint Vincent to the northwest died Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into Cadiz Bay; In the dimmest northeast distance, dawned Gibraltar grand and gray; "Here and here did England help me, - how can I help England?"—say, Whoso turns as I, this evening, turn to God to praise and pray, While Jove's planet rises yonder, silent over Africa. H THE FLOWER'S NAME. ERE 'S the garden she walked across, Arm in my arm, such a short while since : Hinders the hinges and makes them wince! Down this side of the gravel-walk She went while her robe's edge brushed the box: To point me a moth on the milk-white flox. I will never think that she passed you by! But yonder see, where the rock-plants lie! |