Unkiss'd the merchant bore his care,
Unkiss'd the knights went out to war,
Unkiss'd the mariner came home,
Unkiss'd the minstrel men did roam.

Or in the stream the maids would stare,
Nor know why they were made so fair :
Their yellow locks, their bosoms white,
Their limbs well-wrought for all delight,
Seem'd foolish things that waited death,—
As hopeless as the flowers beneath
The weariness of unkiss'd feet:
No life was bitter then, or sweet.

Therefore, O Venus! well may we
Praise the green ridges of the sea
O'er which, upon a happy day,
Thou camest to take our shame away.
Well may we praise the curdling foam
Amidst the which thy feet did bloom—
Flowers of the Gods; the yellow sand
They kiss'd atwixt the sea and land;
The bee-beset ripe-seeded grass

Through which thy fine limbs first did pass ;

The purple-dusted butterfly

First blown against thy quivering thigh;
The first red rose that touch'd thy side,
And overblown and fainting died;

The flickering of the orange shade
Where first in sleep thy limbs were laid;
The happy day's sweet life and death,
Whose air first caught thy balmy breath :-
Yea! all these things well praised may be,
But with what words shall we praise Thee?
O Venus! O thou Love alive!
Born to give peace to souls that strive.

JOHN JAMES PIATT.

1835

THE OLD MAN AND THE SPRING-LEAVES.

Underneath the beechen tree

All things fall in love with me!
Birds, that sing so sweetly, sung

Ne'er more sweet when I was young;
Some sweet breeze, I will not see,

Steals to kiss me lovingly;

All the leaves so blithe and bright,
Dancing, sing in Maying light
Over me-" At last, at last,

He has stolen from the Past."

Wherefore, leaves! so gladly mad?
I am rather sad than glad.

"He is the merry child that play'd
Underneath our beechen shade
Years ago, whom all things bright
Gladden'd, glad with his delight."

I am not the child that play'd
Underneath your beechen shade;
I am not the boy ye sung
Songs to, in lost fairy tongue.
He read fairy dreams below,

Legends leaves and flowers must know;
He dream'd fairy dreams, and ye

Changed to fairies, in your glee

Dancing, singing from the tree;

And awaken'd fairy-land

Circled childhood's magic wand.

Joy swell'd his heart, joy kiss'd his brow :

I am following funerals now.

Fairy shores from Time depart;

Lost horizons flush my heart :
I am not the child that play'd
Underneath your beechen shade.

"'Tis the merry child that play'd
Underneath our beechen shade
Years ago, whom all things bright
Loved, made glad by his delight."

Ah! the bright leaves will not know
That an old man dreams below.
No! they will not hear nor see,
Clapping their hands at finding me,
Singing, dancing from their tree.
Ah! their happy voices steal
Time away again I feel,
While they sing to me apart,
The lost child come in my heart:
In the enchantment of the Past

The old man is the child at last.

CELIA LEIGHTON THAXTER.

1835

MEDRAKE AND OSPREY.

Medrake, waving wide wings low o'er the breeze-rippled

bight!

Osprey, soaring superb overhead in the fathomless blue, Graceful, and fearless, and strong! do you thrill with the

morning's delight

Even as I? Brings the sunshine a message of beauty for you?

O the blithe breeze of the West, blowing sweet from the far

away land,

Bowing the grass heavy-headed, thick-crowding, so slender and proud!

O the warm sea sparkling over with waves by the swift wind

fann'd!

O the wide sky crystal clear, with bright islands of delicate

cloud!

Feel you the waking of life in the world lock'd so long in the frost?

Beautiful birds, with the light flashing bright from your banner-like wings!

Osprey, soaring so high, in the depths of the sky half lost! Medrake, hovering low where the sandpiper's sweet note rings!

Nothing am I to you, a blot perhaps on the day;

Nought do I add to your joy, but precious you are in my

sight;

And you seem on your glad wings to lift me up into the ether

away;

And the morning divine is more radiant because of your glorious flight.

BYRON FORCEYTHE WILLSON.

1837-1867.

THE ESTRAY.

"Now tell me, my merry woodman !

Why standest so aghast?".

"My lord! 'twas a beautiful creature
That hath but just gone past!

66

"A creature,-what kind of a creature? "-
Nay, now, but I do not know."-
"Humph! what did it make you think of?"
66 The sunshine, or the snow."-

"I shall overtake my horse then.”-
The woodman open'd his eye :
The gold fell all around him ;
And a rainbow spann'd the sky.

AUTUMN-SONG.

In Spring the poet is glad,

And in Summer the poet is gay; But in Autumn the poet is sad,

And has something sad to say:

For the wind moans in the wood,

And the leaf drops from the tree,

And the cold rain falls on the graves of the good,
And the mist comes up from the sea :

And the Autumn Songs of the poet's soul
Are set to the passionate grief

Of winds that sough and bells that toll
The dirge of the Falling Leaf.

WILLIAM WINTER.

1836

LOVE'S QUEEN.

He loves not well whose love is bold :
I would not have thee come too nigh.
The sun's gold would not seem pure gold
Unless the sun were in the sky :
To take him thence and chain him near
Would make his beauty disappear.

He keeps his state: do thou keep thine,
And shine upon me from afar !

So shall I bask in light divine

That falls from Love's own guiding-star :

So shall thy eminence be high,

And so my passion shall not die.

But all my life shall reach its hands

Of lofty longing tow'rd thy face,