Fleurs de lys and Other Poems | Page 8

deemed it here.?_
THREE SONNETS.
THE MAIDEN.
The melody of birds is in her voice.?The lake is not more crystal than her eyes,?In whose brown depths her soul still sleeping lies.?With her soft curls the passionate zephyr toys,?And whispers in her ear of coming joys.?Upon her breast red rosebuds fall and rise,?Kissing her snowy throat, and, lover-wise,?Breathing forth sweetness till the fragrance cloys.
Sometimes she thinks of love, but, oftener yet,?Wooing but wearies her, and love's warm phrase?Repels and frightens her. Then, like the sun?At misty dawn, amid the fear and fret
There rises in her heart at last some One,?And all save love is banished by his rays.
THE WIFE.
There stands a cottage by a river side,?With rustic benches sloping eaves beneath,?Amid a scene of mountain, stream and heath.?A dainty garden, watered by the tide,?On whose calm breast the queenly lilies ride,?Is bright with many a purple pansy wreath,?While here and there forbidden lion's teeth?Uprear their golden crowns with stubborn pride.
See! there she leans upon the little gate,?Unchanged, save that her curls, once flowing free,?Are closely coiled upon her shapely head,?And that her eyes look forth more thoughtfully.?Hark to her sigh! "Why tarries he so late?"?But mark her smile! She hears his well-known tread.
THE MOTHER.
Beneath the eaves there is another chair,?And a bruised lily lies upon the walk,?With the bright drops still clinging to its stalk.?Whose careless hand has dropped its treasure there??And whose small form does that frail settee bear??Whose are that wooden shepherdess and flock,?That noble coach with steeds that never balk??And why the gate that tops the cottage-stair?
Ah! he has now a rival for her love,?A chubby-cheeked, soft-fisted Don Juan,?Who rules with iron hand in velvet glove?Mother and sire, as only Baby can.?See! there they romp, the mother and her boy,?He on her shoulders perched and wild with joy.
LONG AGO.
The sun was swimming in the purple tide,?His golden locks far floating on the sea,?When thou and I stole beachward, side by side,?To say adieu and dream of joys to be.?The ebbing waves were whispering to the strand?Amid the rocks a tender, sweet good-bye--?Ah! Well that night could we two understand?What bitter grief was in their ceaseless cry.
The salt wind blew across the rank marsh grass,?And laid its chilling, fingers on our pulse.?Sea nettles lay in many a shapeless mass,?Half hidden, in the garnet hills of dulse.?The awkward crabs ran sideways from our path,?And starfish sprawled face downward in the mud;?While, token of some bleak December's wrath,?A wreck lay stranded high above the flood.
Few were our words. Love speaks from heart to heart,?Nor needs that rude interpreter the tongue.?A few short hours and fate would bid us part,?No more to stray the weedy rocks among.?We dared not trust our bitter thoughts to speech.?For speech had raised the floodgates of our tears;?And so we walked in silence on the beach?With the wild billows wailing in our ears.
How beautiful thou wast! Thy snowy gown,?Whose rustle made sweet music, part revealed?Thy perfect form. Thy thoughtful eyes and brown,?Beneath their drooping lashes half concealed,?Swam in a sea of tears. Thy tresses played?Wild wanton with the wind, and kissed each cheek,?That flushed and paled, till one had well nigh said.?Thy very blood did think and love and speak.
We sat within the shelter of the boat.?That, buried in the sand for half its length,?Before the black-browed storm no more would float?Nor like a gull defy the tempest's strength.?We spoke of pleasures past, of joys to be?When we should meet again nor ever part.?I faltered forth my deathless love for thee,?And in thy tearful silence read thy heart.
We looked upon the setting of the sun;?We marked the summer twilight fade away;?We saw the star-worlds rising, one by one,?And, stooping, kiss the surface of the bay.?Then sitting in the moonlight, each by each,?I bent and kissed away thy lingering tears;?While ever plunged the billows on the beach?And sent their dreary cadence to our ears.
The sun was swimming in the purple tide,?His golden locks far floating on the sea,?When I stole forth yestre'en and sat beside?The stranded wreck to dream again of thee.?Across my cheek I felt the marsh wind sweep,?Still called the sea along the darkening shore,?Again the changeless stars began to peep;?Naught save thyself had changed since days of yore.
O! happy period of my early youth!?When Love was master, Reason but a slave,?When friends seemed heroes, woman crystal truth,?Success the certain portion of the brave:?Come back, come back and give me ere I die?The pure ideal of my life again!?In vain I plead. Time's snowy ashes lie?Cold on the hearth-stone of my aged brain.
AT CHATEAUGUAY.
Memory gleams like a gem at night?Through the gloom of to-day for me,?Bringing dreams of a summer bright
At Chateauguay.
Summer sleeps in the ripening corn,?Sunlight glitters on wood and lea,?Scent of flowers on the air is borne
At Chateauguay.
Swiftly rushes the river by,?Through the lake to the far-off