« PreviousContinue »
Not for battle, not for pelf,
Thou didst laugh at sun and breeze
Thou wast there!-thy little boat,
THE ORPHAN BALLAD-SINGERS. Oh, weary, weary are our feet,
And weary, weary is our way; Through many a long and crowded street
We've wander'd mournfully to-day.
My little sister she is pale ;
She is too tender and too young To bear the autumn's sullen gale,
And all day long the child has sung. She was our mother's favourite child,
Who loved her for her eyes of blue ; And she is delicate and mild
She cannot do what I can do. She never met her father's eyes,
Although they were so like her own;
A father to his child unknown.
A little playful thing was she ;.
The tale how he had sunk at sea.
How strange, how white, how cold she grew! It was a broken heart, they said
I wish our hearts were broken too.
We have no home we have no friends;
They said our home no more was ours Our cottage where the ash-tree bends,
The garden we had fill’d with flowers; The sounding shells our father brought,
That we might hear the sea at home;
The winter's golden honeycomb.
No shelter from the open sky;
My mother's grave, and rest, and die. Alas, it is a weary thing
To sing our ballads o'er and o'erThe songs we used at home to singAlas, we have a home no more!
TO A DESERTED COUNTRY-SEAT. Hail to thy silent woods, Thy solemn climate, and thy deep repose, Where the west wind as he goes Moans to the falling floods, That through the forest glide, And journey with a melancholy tide! Hail to thy happy ground, Where all is steep'd in stillest solitude; And no unhallow'd sound Wakes nature from her holy mood; Here let me waste away The little leisure of life's busy day! Thy lone and ancient towers Shall be my only haunt from youth to age ; The wild grown garden bowers Shall shelter me in life's long pilgrimage ; And I will think me blest, For ever in thy peaceful bounds to rest. On thee the sunbeam falls In silence all the solitary year; And mouldering are thy walls, That echoed once with hospitable cheer; And all is past away That stood around thee in thy prosperous day. But I may seek thy shades, And wander in thy long forgotten bowers, And haunt thy sunny glades, Where the mild summer leads the rosy hours, And mingled flowers perfume The noontide air,-a wilderness of bloom. For nature here again With silent steps repairs her woodland throne, Usurps the fair domain,
And claims the lovely desert for her own,
Deep silence reigns around,
shall be In these green walks for ever safe and free!
Wave, laurel, wave thy boughs,
bowers, With patient heart I wait the suffering hours. How soon the morn of life, The beam, the beauty of our days, is o’er, Amid a world of strife The heart's young joys, shall bud, shall bloom no more! Yet tranquil be the day That lights the wanderer on his homeward way.
Lo! where the lord of light
W. S. RoscoE.
STANZAS FOR MUSIC.
WE parted in silence, we parted by night,
On the banks of that lonely river,
We met, and we parted for ever.
Told many a touching story,
Where the soul wears its mantle of glory. We parted in silence, our cheeks were wet
With the tears that were past controlling; We vow'd we would never--no never forget,
And those vows at the time were consoling: But the lips that echoed the vow of mine,
Are cold as that lonely river;
Has shrouded its fires for ever.
And now on the midnight sky I look,
And my heart grows full to weeping; Each star is to me as a sealed book,
Some tale of that loved one keeping. We parted in silence, we parted in tears,
On the banks of that lonely river; But the odour and bloom of those bygone years Shall hang round its water for ever.