THE MOON's full splendour on the waveless sea;-
A towering lily sleeping in the light,
Lull'd by the music of the honey-bee ;—
A rose, dew-laden, bending to the night,
Faint with a sense of its own ecstacy;-
A proud, white lotus, floating on a lake;—
A tall magnolia ;-a violet-small-
But so intensely sweet, that it doth take
The full sense like a passion;-Lady, all
That I behold, of calm, rich, natural grace,
Disturbs me less with joy than gazing on that
face.
All blessings be upon thee, Lady! though
They cannot make thee richer than thou art. Need we wish peace for one who ne'er can know Its opposite? Ask calmness for a heart, Calm as the deepening light of summer eves, Or sound of rills that, o'er their pebbled way, Murmur, harmonious with the rustling leaves, A soft quietus to the fading day?
Call melody to lips that only meet
To breathe forth sounds, so musically sweet
That all the honied syllables they say
Dance to the heart like marriage bells in May!
SONG OF THE GERMAN WEAVER.
What spirit in thy bosom's rise may dwellWhat the bright forms that animate thy sleep, Or minister by day, or lend their spell
To guard those eyes from sorrow when they
What fit expression for the dreams that lie, Shrined in the light (that we must FEEL, not
Brightening the world of passion in thine eye;—
All these are things that Poesy defy,
To put them into words-yet cannot die,
But live for ever!-Beauty is but breath:
These are immortal-beautifying Death!
SONG OF THE GERMAN WEAVER.
GREEN grow the budding blackberry hedges;
What joy! a violet meets my quest!
The blackbird seeks the last year's sedges,
The chaffinch also builds her nest.
The snow has from each place receded,
Alone is white the mountain's brow;
I from my home have stole unheeded;
This is the place-I'll venture now;
Hears he my call? I'll boldly face him!
He is not bad! Upon this rock
My pack of linen I will place him-
It is a right-good, heavy stock!
And fine! yes, I'll uphold it ever,
I' th' dale no better's wove at all-
He shows himself to mortal never!
So courage, heart! once more I call;
Rubezahl!
No sound! Into the wood I hasted,
That he might help us, hard bested!
My mother's cheeks so wan and wasted-
Within the house no crumb of bread!
To market, cursing, went my father-
Might he but there a buyer meet!
With Rubezahl I'll venture rather-
Him for the third time I entreat!
Rubezahl!
For he so kindly helped a many,—
My grandmother oft to me has told;
Yes, gave poor folks a good-luck penny,
Whose woe was undeserved, of old!
So here I sped, my heart beats lightly,
My goods are justly measured all!
I will not beg,-will sell uprightly!
Oh, that he would come! Rubezahl!
Rubezahl!
SONG OF THE GERMAN WEAVER.
If this small pack should take his fancy,
Perhaps he'd order more to come!
I should be pleased! Ah, there is plenty
As beautiful as this at home!
Suppose he took it every piece!
Ah, would his choice on this might fall! What's pawned I would myself releaseThat would be glorious! Rubezahl! Rubezahl!
I'd enter then our small room gaily,
And cry,
"Here father's gold in store!"
He'd curse not; that he wove us daily
A hunger-web, would say no more!
Then, then, again would smile my mother,
And serve a plenteous meal to all;
Then would huzzah each little brother-
Oh, that he would come! Rubezahl!
Thus spake the little weaver lonely,
Thus stood and cried he, weak and pale.
In vain the casual raven only
Flew o'er the old gnome-haunted dale. Thus stood he, whilst the hours passed slowly, Till the night-shadows dimmed the glen, And with white quivering lips, said lowly, Amid his tears, yet once again,
Then softly from the green-wood turning,
He trembled, sighed, took up his pack,
And to the unassuaged mourning
Of his poor home went slowly back.
Oft paused he by the way, heart-aching,
Feeble, and by his burden bowed.
-Methinks the famished father's making
For that poor youth, even now, a shroud!
ANOTHER Star hath set:-though long declining
Upon the verge of Life's horizon, we
In his effulgence darkened watched him shining:
Until hope, gazing toward him mournfully,
Deemed she might yet his light emerging see.
It was a wish unjust, a thought unweighed;
His spirit burns among us undecayed;
And who would live in earthly bonds confined,
Eclipsed in darkness the immortal mind?
Had he not acted on life's busy stage,
The tutelary spirit of his age?
Historian, bard, philosopher was he:
Who hath not gathered wisdom from his page,
And truth in all its sunlike purity?
Then blessed be his earthly pilgrimage!
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