Along the Shore | Page 5

more than we
dream of worth!
THE BABY.
Pray, have you heard the news?
Sturdy in lungs and thews,
There's
a fine baby!
Ring bells of crystal lip,
Wave boughs with blossoming
tip;
Think what he may be!
Love cannot love enough,
Winter is never rough
All round such
sweetness;
One of a million more
Sent to the glad heart's door
In
their completeness!

Such news is never old,
Though in each ear't is told,
As a first
birthday.
Welcome, thou ray of light!
In golden prayers bedight,

Sail down thy mirth-way!
A Waltz.
Delicate gayety,
Strains of a violin;
Graceful steps begin--
Roses
at her waist!
Clouds of sparkling light,
Whispers of lovers alone

As the couples drift one by one
In the golden sheen of the ball.

Alone in the happy crowd
Each pair glides past each pair;
Delicate
strains of an air;
Rainbow gayety:
Pride of the moment throbs,

Smiles, on the youthful cheek,
Fearing no ill-wind's freak,
Warm in
the heart of the waltz;--
Moving like melody,
Flowing in light and
glee,
Young as the May is she,
Strong as the June I am.
FIRST BLOOM OF LOVE.
O girl of spring! O brown-eyed girl!
Gathering violets near the woods,

Whose coy young petals half unfurl
The mystery of their dulcet
moods.
O blushing girl! O girl of spring!
I hear no answer move the air;
Yet
eyelids hovering on the wing
Reveal deep meanings curtained there.
O girl of spring! O spring of love!
Let silent violets be the speech

From you to me, and let them prove
What maiden silence will not
teach!
A WOOING SONG.
O love, I come; thy last glance guideth me!
Drawn, too, by webs of
shadow, like thine hair;
For, Sweet, the mystery
Of thy dark hair
the deepening dusk hath caught.
In early moonlight gleamings, lo, I
see
Thy white hands beckon to the garden, where
Dim day and
silvery darkness are inwrought

As our two lives, where, joining soul

with soul,
The tints shall mingle in a fairer whole.
Oh! dost thou
hear? I call, beloved, I call,
My stout heart trembling till thy words
return;
Hope-lifted, I float faster with the fall
Of fear toward joy
such fear alone can earn!
DOROTHY.
Dear little Dorothy, she is no more!
I have wandered world-wide,
from shore to shore,
I have seen as great beauties as ever were wed;

But none can console me for Dorothy dead.
Dear little Dorothy! How strange it seems
That her face is less real
than the faces of dreams;
That the love which kept true, and the lips
which so spoke, Are more lost than my heart, which died not when it
broke!
MORNING SONG.
Turn thy face to me, my love,
I come from out the morning;
Give
thy hand to me, my love,
I'm dewy from the dawning.
Touch my lips with thine, my love,
I've tasted air at daybreak;
Gaze
into my eyes, my love,
At the sky's waking they wake.
LOOKING BACKWARD.
Gray towers make me think of thee,
Thou girl of olden minstrelsy,

Young as the sunlight of to-day,
Silent as tasselled boughs in May!
A wind-flower in a world of harm,
A harebell on a turret's arm,
A
pearl upon the hilt of fame
Thou wert, fair child of some high name.
The velvet page, the deep-eyed knight,
The heartless falcon, poised
for flight,
The dainty steed and graceful hound,
In thee their keenest
rapture found.

But for old ballads, and the rhyme
And writ of genius o'er the time

When keeps had newly reared their towers,
The winning scene had
not been ours.
O Chivalry! thy age was fair,
When even knaves set out to dare

Their heads for any barbarous crime,
And hate was brave, and love
sublime.
The bugle-note I send so far
Across Time's moors to thee, sweet star,

Where stands thy castle in its mist,
Hear, if the wandering breezes
list!
UNLOVED.
Paler than the water's white
Stood the maiden in the shade,
And
more silent than the night
Were her lips together laid;
Eyes she hid so long and still
By lids wet with unshed tears,
Hands
she loosely clasped at will,
Though her heart was full of fears.
Never, never, never more
May her soul with joy be moved;
Silent,
silent, silent,--for
He was silent whom she loved.
THE CLOCK'S SONG.
Eileen of four,
Eileen of smiles;
Eileen of five,
Eileen of tears;

Eileen of ten, of fifteen years,
Eileen of youth
And woman's wiles;

Eileen of twenty,
In love's land,
Eileen all tender
In her bliss,

Untouched by sorrow's treacherous kiss,
And the sly weapon in life's
hand,--
Eileen aroused to share all fate,
Eileen a wife,
Pale,
beautiful,
Eileen most grave
And dutiful,
Mourning her dreams in
queenly state.
Eileen! Eileen!....
BROKEN-HEARTED.
"Cross my hands upon my breast,"
Read her last behest.
"Turn my

cheek upon the pillow,
As resting from life's stormy billow
With
sleep's fine zest!"
"Cross my hands upon my breast,"
Read her last behest,
"That the
patient bones may lie
In form of thanks eternally,
Grimly
expressed!"
We clasped her hands upon her breast:
Oh mockery at misery's hest!

We hid in flowers her body's grief,--
Counting by many a rose and
leaf
Her days unblessed!
THE CYNIC'S FEALTY.
We all have hearts that shake alike
Beneath the arias of Fate's hand;

Although the cynics sneering stand,
These too the deathless powers
strike.
A trembling lover's infinite trust,
To the last drop of doating blood,

Feels not alone the ocean flood
Of desperate grief, when dreams are