A LOST CHORD. SEATED one day at the organ, I was weary and ill at ease, I do not know what I was playing, It flooded the crimson twilight, With a touch of infinite calm. It quieted pain and sorrow, It seemed the harmonious echo From our discordant life. It linked all perplexed meanings I have sought, but I seek it vainly, It may be that Death's bright angel DINAH MARIA MULOCK (CRAIK). 1826-1887. [BORN at Stoke-upon-Trent, Staffordshire, in 1826. Published her first novel, The Ogilvies, in 1849, followed by numerous others, among which John Halifax, Gentleman, 1857, is the most noted. In 1864 she obtained a literary pension of £60 a year, and in 1865 was married to Mr. George Lillie Craik, a nephew of the literary historian of the same name.] Of babyhood's royal dignities: O the day when thou goest a wooing, When those beautiful lips 'gin suing, Sittest love-glorified. Rule kindly, on, glorious, But march GERALD MASSEY. 1828 [BORN at Tring, in Herefordshire, May 29, 1828. He received a scanty education at the British and National schools. At the age of fifteen he went to London, and served as an errandboy. His first volume, Poems and Chansons, was published about 1846. In 1849 he published Voices of Freedom, and Lyrics of Love. The Ballad of Babe Christabel, and other Poems, appeared in 1855; Craigcrook Castle and Other Poems, in 1856; Havelock's March and Other Poems, in 1861. His latest work is A Tale of Eternity and Other Poems, 1869. In 1873 he made a lecturing tour in the United States.] O, LAY THY HAND IN MINE, DEAR! O, LAY thy hand in mine, dear! But Time hath brought no sign, dear, 'Tis long, long since our new love Made life divine; But age enricheth true love, And lay thy cheek to mine, dear, And take thy rest; Mine arms around thee twine, dear, A many cares are pressing On this dear head; But Sorrow's hands in blessing O, lean thy life on mine, dear! Thou wert a winsome vine, dear, And so, till boughs are leafless, OUR WEE WHITE ROSE. ALL in our marriage garden Grew, smiling up to God, A bonnier flower than ever Suckt the green warmth of the sod; O, beautiful unfathomably Its little life unfurled; And crown of all things was our wee From out a balmy bosom Our bud of beauty grew; It fed on smiles for sunshine, Our leaves of love were curled Our house of life she filled; see Such precious promise pearled Upon the petals of our wee White Rose of all the world. But evermore the halo Of angel-light increased, And dropt i' the grave - God's lap our wee White Rose of all the world. Our Rose was but in blossom, With holy dews impearled!" You scarce could think so small a thing From dawn to sunset's marge. WILLIAM ALLINGHAM. 1828-1889. [BORN at Ballyshannon, in the north-west part of Ireland. After contributing to the Athenaum, Household Words, and other periodicals, his first volume, Poems, was published in 1850; in 1854, Day and Night Songs appeared, and in 1855 an enlarged edition, with illustrations by D. G. Rossetti, Millais, and A. Hughes; Laurence Bloomfield in Ireland, a Modern Poem in twelve chapters, in 1869; Songs, Poems, and Ballads, 1877.] LOVELY MARY DONNELLY. O LOVELY Mary Donnelly, it's you I love the best! If fifty girls were round you, I'd hardly see the rest. Be what it may the time of day, the place be where it will, Sweet looks of Mary Donnelly, they bloom before me still, Her eyes like mountain water that's flowing on a rock, How clear they are, how dark they are! and they give me many a shock. Red rowans warm in sunshine, and wetted with a shower, Could ne'er express the charming lip that has me in its power. Her nose is straight and handsome, her eyebrows lifted up, Her chin is very neat and pert, and smooth like a china cup, Her hair's the brag of Ireland, so weighty and so fine; It's rolling down upon her neck, and gathered in a twine. The dance o' last Whit-Monday night exceeded all before; No pretty girl for miles about was missing from the floor; But Mary kept the belt of love, and O, but she was gay! She danced a jig, she sung a song, that took my heart away. When she stood up for dancing, her steps were so complete The music nearly killed itself to listen to her feet; The fiddler moaned his blindness, he heard her so much praised, But blessed himself he wasn't deaf when once her voice she raised. And evermore I'm whistling or lilting what you sung, Your smile is always in my heart, your name beside my tongue; But you've as many sweethearts as you'd count on both your hands, And for myself there's not a thumb or little finger stands. O, you're the flower o' womankind in country or in town; The higher I exalt you, the lower I'm cast down. If some great lord should come this way, and see your beauty bright, And you to be his lady, I'd own it was but right. O, might we live together in a lofty palace hall, Where joyful music rises, and where scarlet curtains fall! O, might we live together in a cottage mean and small; With sods of grass the only roof, and mud the only wall! They have kept her ever since By the craggy hillside, Is any man so daring To dig one up in spite, He shall find the thornies set Up the airy mountain, And white owl's feather! DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI. 1828-1882. [SON of Gabriel; born at London in 1828; educated at King's College. His love of art led him to found, in connection with Holman Hunt, Millais, and others, what is known as the "PreRaphaelite "school of painting; is widely known through his designs for illustrated works. His Early Italian Poets, a volume of translations, appeared in 1861. Dante and his Circle, in 1874, a revised edition of the preceding; and a volume of Poems in 1870. As a poet he is associated with that school of latter-day singers of which Morris and Swinburne are also notable members. Died April 9, 1882.] |