A LIFE'S LYRIC.

I.

WITH hearts of youth in the well of truth

My Love and I went diving,

Like the banded bees, 'gainst the winds that freeze Sweet thoughts and joys a hiving.

Naught cared we then for the world of men,

Knowing nor good nor evil,

As glowing we lay, 'neath the blushing May,
A watching the ocean-level.

And she so light took my heart and sight

With love-tones and faëry-wiles,

While the wing'd days flew o'er the waters blue,

Each radiant alike with smiles.

II.

But the doubt came in; and then the sin

Of Pride came on apace,

Making scenes so cheery a wilderness dreary,
Blasted by passions base.

I knew that her pride was sorely tried

By the love of one like me :

But oh! that such leaven should mar such a heaven,

That summer alone by the sea!

And now it is flown; nor sigh, nor groan,

E'er brings to my spirit relief:

Though my anger is past, her scorn doth last
As lasting (ah me !) as my grief.

III.

"O let not my cry, O Love most high,

Add to thy scorn thy hate!"

So runs my bewailing, like an empty wailing
Whose burden is "late-too late!"

"No more can I view the ocean blue,

Nor the blossom of hawthorn bright,

Nor sail in the skiff, nor mount the green cliff,
Without thought of the lonely night,

"When I left thee for aye, and thou wert gay,
And lightsome with jest and laughing,—
As before the death-shock a man may mock
The wailing of Grief with scoffing!"

IV.

Near the sandy rim of ocean dim,—

A hot and forsaken shore,

Where on still spring-nights mid the wooded heights Is heard the nightingale's lore;

Near a dingle sweet where trees do meet
The zephyrs in wavy commotion,

Is a marble shrine oft kiss'd by the brine
Of an Elysian and eastern ocean;

And over this tomb grows the red may-bloom,

As Love in the end may cover

By a late relenting, the humble repenting
And death and despair of a lover!

A MADONNA OF 1310.

SHE is stiff and thin, but the eyes at least

Shine with an earnest love and true;

Though the brows and nose, it must be confess'd, Are formal and hard; while the sweet mouth too Stiffens with gravity, where should float

A smile to take hearts unaware;

Yet I can fancy a carolling note

Making those white lips rosy and fair!

Was not this lady, with great gold crown,
And drapery heavy with gems, and straight,
Whose massive aureole presses down

Her lank hair like a metal plate,—

Some sweet Italian girl, whose eye,

While she sang right blithely down the street, Flash'd up at Giotto suddenly,

As she tripp'd away on her light hind's feet?