The wind blows fairly for the sea;
The white waves round thy bark are swelling, Thy lover sighs, for the morn to rise,
And make thee a bride, my gentle Ellen :Yet closer, closer round me cling,
Though another claim thy love to-morrow,
None, none are here to reprove the tear,
That flows to-day for a father's sorrow.
Come, gaze on me, thou darling child,
My fairest and my fondliest cherish'd,
That I may trace, in thy placid face,
Thy mother's beauty ere she perish'd.
And let me hear thy mother's song
Yet once more from thy sweet lip swelling,—
And none again shall sing that strain,
The last song of my gentle Ellen.
that when between us lie
Wide lands and many a mountain billow,
Thy heart will tend to thine earliest friend,
And think in prayer of his aged pillow.
For my head is white with winter snow,
No earthly sun away may carry,
Until I come to my waiting home,
The last home where the aged tarry.
Then lean once more upon my breast,
As when a simple child caressing,
For another day, and far away
Wilt thou be from thy father's blessing.
Ay, closer, closer round me cling,
Though another claim thy love to-morrow, None, none are here, to reprove the tear That flows to-day for a father's sorrow.
TO THE MEMORY OF A YOUNG LADY.
BRILLIANT and beautiful!-And can it be
That in thy radiant eye there dwells no light-
Upon thy cheek no smile?—I little deem'd
At our last parting, when thy cheering voice
Breath'd the soul's harmony, what shadowy form
Then rose between us, and with icy dart
Wrote, "Ye shall meet no more!" I little deem'd
That thy elastic step, Death's darken'd vale
Would tread before me.
Friend! I shrink to say
Farewell to thee. In youth's unclouded morn
We gaze on friendship as a graceful flower,
And win it for our pleasure, or our pride.
But when the stern realities of life
Do clip the wings of fancy, and cold storms
Rack the worn cordage of the heart, it breathes
A healing essence, and a strengthening charm,
Next to the hope of heaven. Such was thy love,
Departed and deplored. Talents were thine
Lofty and bright, the subtle shaft of wit,
And that keen glance of intellect which reads,
Intuitive, the deep and mazy springs
Of human action. Yet such meek regard
For others' feelings, such a simple grace
And singleness of purpose, such respect
To woman's noiseless duties, sweetly blent
And temper'd those high gifts, that every heart
That fear'd their splendour, loved their goodness too.
I see thy home of birth. Its pleasant halls
Put on the garb of mourning. Sad and lone
Are they who nursed thy virtues, and beheld
Their bright expansion through each rip'ning year.
To them the sacred name of daughter blent
All images of comforter and friend,
The fire-side charmer, and the nurse of pain,
Eyes to the blind, and, to the weary, wings.
What shall console their sorrow, when young morn
Upriseth in its beauty, but no smile
of filial love doth mark it?-or when eve
Sinks down in silence, and that tuneful tone,
So long the treasure of their list'ning heart,
Uttereth no music?
Ah!-so frail are weSo like the brief ephemeron that wheels Its momentary round, we scarce can weep Our own bereavements, ere we haste to share The clay of those we mourn. A narrow point Divides our grief-sob from our pang of death; Down to the mould'ring multitude we go, And all our anxious thoughts, our fever'd hopes, The sorrowing burdens of our pilgrimage In deep oblivion rest. Then let the woes And joys of earth be to the deathless soul Like the swept dew-drop from the eagle's wing, When waking in his strength, he sunward soars. MRS. SIGOURNEY.
O LADY, leave thy silken thread
And flowery tapestrie,
There's living roses on the bush,
And blossoms on the tree;
Stoop where thou wilt, thy careless hand
Some random bud will meet;
Thou canst not tread but thou wilt find
The daisy at thy feet.
"Tis like the birthday of the world,
When Earth was born in bloom;
The light is made of many dyes,
The air is all perfume;
There's crimson buds, and white and blue—
The very rainbow showers
Have turn'd to blossoms where they fell,
And sown the earth with flowers.
There's fairy tulips in the East,
The gardens of the sun;
The very streams reflect the hues,
And blossom as they run:
While morn opes like a crimson rose,
Still wet with pearly showers;
Then, lady, leave the silken thread
Thou twinest into flowers!
BIRDS' NESTS.
SPRING is abroad! the cuckoo's note
Floats o'er the flowery lea;
Yet nothing of the mighty sea
Her welcome tones import:
Nothing of lands where she has been,
Of fortunes she has known;
The joy of this remember'd scene
Breathes in her song alone.
No traveller she, whose vaunting boast
Tells of each fair but far-off coast:
She talks not here of eastern skies,
But of home and its pleasant memories.
Spring is abroad! a thousand more
Sweet voices are around,
Which yesterday a farewell sound
Gave to some foreign shore;
I know not where-it matters not;
To-day their thoughts are bent,
To pitch, in some sequester'd spot,
Their secret summer tent;
Hid from the glance of urchins' eyes,
Peering already for the prize;
While daily, hourly intervene
The clustering leaves, a closer screen.
In bank, in bush, in hollow hole
High on the rocking tree,
On the gray cliffs that haughtily
The ocean waves control;
Far in the solitary fen,
On heath, and mountain hoar,
Beyond the foot or fear of men,
Or by the cottage door;
In grassy tuft, in ivy'd tower,
Where'er directs the instinctive power,
Or loves each jocund pair to dwell,
Is built the cone, or feathery cell.
Beautiful things! than I, no boy
Your traces may discern,
Sparkling beneath the forest fern,
With livelier sense of joy:
I would not bear them from the nest,
To leave fond hearts regretting;
But, like the soul screen'd in the breast,
Like gems in beauteous setting,
Amidst Spring's leafy, green array
I deem them; and, from day to day,
Passing, I pause, to turn aside,
With joy, the boughs where they abide.
The mysteries of life's early day
Lay thick as summer dew,
Like it, they glitter'd and they flew,
With ardent youth away:
But not a charm of yours has faded,
Ye are full of marvel still.
Now jewels cold, and now pervaded
With heavenly fire, thrill
And kindle into life, and bear
Beauty and music through the air:
The embryos of a shell to-day;
To-morrow, and-away! away!
Methinks, even as I gaze, there springs Life from each tinted cone;
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