SARAH FLOWER ADAMS. 1805-1849. THE OLIVE BOUGHS. They bear the hero from the fight, dying; They lay him down beneath the shade The olive boughs are sighing. He hears the wind among the leaves, dying; He hears the voice that used to be The olive boughs are sighing. Comes the mist around his brow, dying; Comes that form of peace so fair,— The olive boughs are sighing. Fadeth life as fadeth day, dying; There's an urn beneath the shade By the olive branches made : The olive boughs are sighing. SIR WILLIAM ROWAN HAMILTON. 1805-1865. A PRAYER. O brooding Spirit of Wisdom and of Love! Whose mighty wings even now o'ershadow me,Absorb me in thine own immensity, And raise me far my finite self above! Purge vanity away, and the weak care That name or fame of me may widely spread ; Or see it borne! Let no desire of ease, Thy chariot o'er that way by others roll'd! THOMAS WADE. 1805-1876. THE NET-BRAIDERS. Within a low-thatch'd hut, built in a lane Or fisherman, doth scarce know human motion,— Or of some silent poet to the main Straying, to offer infinite devotion To God in the free universe,—there dwelt Of the world's mis-named good, mother and child, Time and their cares, and little e'er complain'd Of Fate or Providence: resign'd and mild, Whilst day by day, for years, their hour-glass rain'd Its trickling sand, to track the wing of Time, They toil'd in peace and much there was sublime In their obscure contentment: of mankind Eye, to his poorest creatures never blind, Deeming they dwelt, they bore their sorrows fleeing, Glad still to live, but not afraid to die, In calm expectance of Eternity. And since I first did greet those braiders poor, If ever I behold fair women's cheeks Is shut to all but Pride, my cleft heart seeks For refuge in my thoughts,-which then explore That hut, with all its want, is Paradise. NYMPHS. Beautiful Things of Old! why are ye gone for ever Dryad and Oread, and ye, Nereids blue! Whose presence woods and hills and sea-rocks knew. And save by poet's lip your names are honour'd never. The sun on the calm sea sheddeth a golden glory, The sands are level and the shingle bright, The green cliffs wear the pomp of heaven's light, And sea-weeds idle lightly Over the rocks; but ye appear not, Dreams of Story! Nymphs of the Sea! Faith's heart hath fled from ye-hath fled; Ye are her boasted scorn; Save to the poet's soul, the sculptor's thought, The painter's fancy, ye are now as nought: Mute is old Triton's horn, And with it half the voice of the Old World is dead. Our creeds are not less vain; our sleeping life still dreams; The present, like the past, Passes in joy and sorrow, love and shame; Truth dwells as deep; wisdom is yet a name; Life still to death flies fast; And the same shrouded light from the dark future gleams. Spirits of vale and hill, of river and of ocean,— Ye thousand deities! Over the earth be president again; And dance upon the mountain and the main In view of mortal eyes: Love us, and be beloved, with the Old Time's devotion ! JOHN STERLING. 1806-1844. DEDALUS. Wail for Dædalus, all that is fairest ! Shapes whose beauty is truest and rarest, Statues! bend your heads in sorrow : Ye that glance amid ruins old, That know not a past nor expect a morrow, By sculptured cave and speaking river, Yet are thy visions in soul the grandest Ever thy phantoms arise before us, Our loftier brothers, but one in blood; By bed and table they lord it o'er us, With looks of beauty and words of good. Calmly they show us mankind victorious Thy toil has won them a god-like quiet; Thou hast wrought their path to a lovely sphere; Their eyes to peace rebuke our riot And shape us a home of refuge here. For Dædalus breathed in them his spirit; The gifts and blessings bestow'd on these. But ah! their wise and graceful seeming Recalls the more that the Sage is gone: Weeping we wake from deceitful dreaming And find our voiceless chamber lone. Dædalus! thou from the twilight fleèst Which thou with visions hast made so bright; And when no more those shapes thou seèst, Wanting thine eye they lose their light. Even in the noblest of Man's creations, Wail for Dædalus, Earth and Ocean! |