LONGING. "Good counsel gave the bird," she said; "I have my wish thrice o'er; For they sing to my very heart," she said. "And it sings with them evermore." LONGING. Of all the myriad moods of mind The thing we long for, that we are Still, through our paltry stir and strife, To let the new life in, we know, Desire must ope the portal ; Perhaps the longing to be so Longing is God's fresh heavenward will, With our poor earthward striving; We quench it that we may be still But would we learn that heart's full scope Which we are hourly wronging, Our lives must climb from hope to hope, And realize our longing. Ah! let us hope that to our praise The moments when we tread his ways, When we are simply good in thought, AUF WIEDERSEHEN! I. SUMMER. THE little gate was reached at last, Half hid in lilacs down the lane; She pushed it wide, and as she passed A wistful look she backward cast, And said," Auf Wiedersehen!" With hand on latch, a vision white Half doubting if she did aright; PALINODE. The lamp's clear gleam flits up the stair; Ah! in that chamber, whose rich air "Tis thirteen years; once more I press The turf that silences the lane; I hear the rustle of her dress, I smell the lilacs, and-ah, yes, Sweet piece of bashful maiden art! The English words had seemed too fain But these they drew us heart to heart, Yet held us tenderly apart,— She said,-"Auf Wiedersehen!” PALINODE. II. AUTUMN. Still thirteen years: 'tis autumn now, On field and hill, in heart and brain; The naked trees at evening sough, The leaf to the forsaken bough Sighs not," We meet again !" Two watched yon oriole's pendent dome That now is void, and dank with rain, And one-O, hope more frail than foam! The bird to his deserted home Sings not,-"We meet again!" The loath gate swings with rusty creak; Somewhere is comfort, somewhere faith, If earth another grave must bear, Yet heaven hath won a sweeter strain, And something whispers to despair, MARIA LOWELL. THE ALPINE SHEEP. ADDRESSED TO A FRIEND AFTER THE LOSS OF A CHILD. WHEN on my ear your loss was knelled. And tender sympathy upburst, A little spring from memory welled, Which once had quenched my bitter thirst, And I was fain to bear to you That it might be as healing dew, To steal some fever from your grief. After our child's untroubled breath And friends came round, with us to weep The story of the Alpine sheep Was told to us by one we love. They, in the valley's sheltering care, Soon crop the meadows' tender prime, And when the sod grows brown and bare, The Shepherd strives to make them climb To airy shelves of pasture green, That hang along the mountain's side, Where grass and flowers together lean, And down through mist the sunbeams slide. |