REAL AND IDEAL. Agreed; and soon our faithful grays Were plunging down the hill-side steep, Where over lichen-crinkled walls The tangled thickets nod and creep; And past the spring that trickles down And o'er the little rattling bridge 169 That spans the pebbly, murmurous stream, And on into the land that seemed The mystic shadow of a dream. And what to find? The smell of hay New-mown, and gleam of mowers' scythes, And purple milkweed hardly seen For troops of golden butterflies; And many a pleasant upland farm, In many a maple's plenteous shade ; All this and more; but here nor there But, looking backward to the hills Was there! Down-folded softly o'er Each dear familiar place it lay, The violet-tinted mystic haze; And there had lain, hour after hour, Through the long, sweet, mid-summer days; While we, in all its splendor clad, Its perfect grace and mystery. SONG. J. W. Chadwick. W E sail toward evening's lonely star, That trembles in the tender blue; One single cloud, a dusky bar, Burnt with dull carmine through and through, Slow-smouldering in the summer sky, Lies low along the fading west; How sweet to watch its splendors die, Wave-cradled thus, and wind-caressed! The soft breeze freshens; leaps the spray Lighthouses kindle far and near, Wave-cradled thus, and wind-caressed. How like a dream are earth and heaven, AGAIN! Thy face, pale in the shadowy even, Thy quiet eyes that gaze on me! O realize the moment's charm, Thou dearest! we are at life's best, Folded in God's encircling arm, Wave-cradled thus and wind-caressed. 171 Celia Thaxter. AGAIN? OH, sweet and fair! Oh, rich and rare! That day so long ago. The autumn sunshine everywhere, The heather all aglow, The ferns were clad in cloth of gold, Such suns will shine, such waves will sing Oh, fit and few! Oh, tried and true! The hours flew past, until at last One day again, no cloud of pain And yet we strove in vain, in vain, To conjure up the past; Like, but unlike,—the sun that shone, For ghosts unseen crept in between, And marred our harmony. “The past is ours, not yours,” they said : "The waves that beat the shore, Though like the same, are not the same, Oh, never, never more!" H SONG. Anon. OW many times do I love thee, dear? Of a new-fallen year, Whose white and sable hours appear How many times do I love again? Tell me how many beads there are Of evening rain Unravelled from the tumbling main And threading the eye of a yellow star :So many times do I love again. Thomas L. Beddoes. THE WHITE BIRCH. 173 TH NATURE'S TEACHINGS. HE fountains mingle with the river, The winds of heaven mix forever Nothing in the world is single, See the mountains kiss high heaven And the sunlight clasps the earth, Shelley. THE WHITE BIRCH. 'HOU art the go-between of rustic lovers ; TH Thy white bark has their secrets in its keeping; Reuben writes here the happy name of Patience, And thy lithe boughs hang murmuring and weeping Above her, as she steals the mystery from thy keepJ. R. Lowell. ing. |