THE POET'S SONG TO HIS WIFE

How many summers, love,
Have I been thine?

How many days, thou dove,

Hast thou been mine? Time, like the winged wind When't bends the flowers, Hath left no mark behind,

To count the hours.

Some weight of thought, though loth, On thee he leaves;

Some lines of care round both

Perhaps he weaves;
Some fears, a soft regret
For joys scarce known;
Sweet looks we half forget ;-
All else is flown!

Ah!-With what thankless heart
I mourn and sing!
Look, where our children start,
Like sudden Spring!

With tongues all sweet and low,
Like a pleasant rhyme,
They tell how much I owe
To thee and Time!

THE STORMY PETREL

A THOUSAND miles from land are we,
Tossing about on the roaring sea;
From billow to bounding billow cast,
Like fleecy snow on the stormy blast:

The sails are scatter'd abroad, like weeds, The strong masts shake like quivering reeds,

The mighty cables, and iron chains,
The hull, which all earthly strength disdains,
They strain and they crack, and hearts like

stone

Their natural hard, proud strength disown.

Up and down! Up and down!

From the base of the wave to the billow's crown,

And midst the flashing and feathery foam
The Stormy Petrel finds a home,
A home, if such a place may be,
For her who lives on the wide, wide sea,
On the craggy ice, in the frozen air,
And only seeketh her rocky lair

To warm her young, and to teach them spring

At once o'er the waves on their stormy wing.

O'er the Deep! O'er the Deep!

Where the whale, and the shark, and the sword-fish sleep,

Outflying the blast and the driving rain,
The Petrel telleth her tale - in vain ;
For the mariner curseth the warning bird
Who bringeth him news of the storms un-
heard!

Ah! thus does the prophet, of good or ill, Meet hate from the creatures he serveth still:

Yet he ne'er falters: So, Petrel! spring Once more o'er the waves on thy stormy wing!

RACHEL, the beautiful (as she was call'd),
Despis'd our mother Leah, for that she
Was tender-ey'd, lean-favor'd, and did lack
The pulpy ripeness swelling the white skin
To sleek proportions beautiful and round,
With wrinkled joints so fruitful to the eye.
All this is fair and yet we know it true
That 'neath a pomane breast and snowy side
A heart of guile and falsehood may be hid,
As well as where the soil is deeper tinct.
So here with this same Rachel was it found:
The dim blue-laced veins on either brow,
Neath the transparent skin meandering,
That with the silver-leaved lily vied;
Her full dark eye, whose brightness glis-
ten'd through

The sable lashes soft as camel-hair ;
Her slanting head curv'd like the maiden

moon

And hung with hair luxuriant as a vine And blacker than a storm; her rounded ear Turn'd like a shell upon some golden shore; Her whispering foot that carried all her weight,

Nor left its little pressure on the sand;
Her lips as drowsy poppies, soft and red,
Gathering a dew from her escaping breath
Her voice melodious, mellow, deep, and
clear,

Lingering like sweet music in the ear;
Her neck o'ersoften'd like to unsunn'd curd;
Her tapering fingers rounded to a point;
The silken softness of her veined hand;
Her dimpled knuckles answering to her
chin;

And teeth like honeycombs o' the wilder

Inherit towards the children all the pride And scorn his mother had towards our mother:

Wherefore he suffers in our just rebuke.

PHRAXANOR TO JOSEPH

Phrax. Oh! ignorant boy, it is the secret hour,

The sun of love doth shine most goodly

fair.

Contemptible darkness never yet did dull
The splendor of love's palpitating light.
At love's slight curtains, that are made of
sighs,

Though e'er so dark, silence is seen to stand
Like to a flower closed in the night;
Or, like a lovely image drooping down
With its fair head aslant and finger rais'd,
And mutely on its shoulder slumbering.
Pulses do sound quick music in Love's ear,
And blended fragrance in his startled breath
Doth hang the hair with drops of magic dew.
All outward thoughts, all common circum-
stance,

Are buried in the dimple of his smile :
And the great city like a vision sails
From out the closing doors of the hush'd
mind.

His heart strikes audibly against his ribs
As a dove's wing doth freak upon a cage,
Forcing the blood athro' the cramped veins
Faster than dolphins do o'ershoot the tide
Cours'd by the yawning shark. Therefore
I say

Night-blooming Cereus, and the star-flower sweet,

The honeysuckle, and the eglantine,

And the ring'd vinous tree that yields red wine,

Together with all intertwining flowers,
Are plants most fit to ramble o'er each

THE PATRIARCHAL HOME

Joseph. Still I am patient, tho' you're merciless.

Yet to speak out my mind, I do avouch
There is no city feast, nor city show,
The encampment of the king and soldiery,
Rejoicings, revelries, and victories,
Can equal the remembrance of my home
In visible imagination.

Even as he was I see my father now,
His grave and graceful head's benignity
Musing beyond the confines of this world,
His world within with all its mysteries.
What pompless majesty was in his mien,
An image of integrity creates,
Pattern of nature, in perfection.
Lo! in the morning when we issued forth,
The patriarch surrounded by his sons,
Girt round with looks of sweet obedience,
Each struggling who should honor him the
most;

While from the wrinkles deep of many

And bread with honey sweeten'd, and dried figs,

And pressed curds, and choicest rarities, Stores of the cheerless season of the year; While at our sides the women of our tribe, With pitchers on their heads, fill'd to the brim

With wine, and honey, and with smoking milk,

Made proud the black-ey'd heifers with the swell

Of the sweet anthem sung in plenty's praise. Thus would we journey to the wilderness, And fixing on some peak that did o'erlook The spacious plains that lay display'd beneath,

Where we could see our cattle, like to specks In the warm meads, browsing the juicy grass,

There pitch our tent, and feast, and revel out,

The minutes flying faster than our feet
That vaulted nimbly to the pipe and voice,
Making fatigue more sweet by appetite.
There stood the graceful Reuben by my
sire,

Piping a ditty, ardent as the sun,
And, like him, stealing renovation
Into the darkest corner of the soul,
And filling it with light. There, women
group'd,

My sisters and their maids, with ears subdued,

With bosoms panting from the eager dance, Against each other lean'd; as I have seen A graceful tuft of lilies of the vale Oppress'd with rain, upon each other bend, While freshness has stol'n o'er them. Some way off

My brothers pitch'd the bar, or plough'd for fame,

Each two with their two heifers harness'd fast

Unto the shaft, and labor'd till the sweat
Had crept about them like a sudden thaw.
Anon they tied an eagle to a tree,
And strove at archery; or with a bear
Struggled for strength of limb.

were no slaves

These

No villain's sons to rifle passengers.
The sports being done, the winners claim'd

the spoil :

Or hide, or feather, or renowned bow,
Or spotted cow, or fleet and pamper'd horse.
And then my father bless'd us, and we sang
Our sweet way home again. Oft I have
ach'd

In memory of these so precious hours,
And wept upon those keys that were my
pride,

And soak'd my pillow thro' the heavy night. Alas! God willing, I'll be patient yet.

By a crown of iron; and his sable hair, Like strakey as a mane, fell where it would, And somewhat hid his glossy sun-brent neck And carcanet of precious sardonyx.

His jewell'd armlets, weighty as a sword, Clasp'd his brown naked arms—a crimson robe,

Deep edged with silver, and with golden thread,

Upon a bear-skin kirtle deeply blush'd, Whose broad resplendent braid and shieldlike clasps

Were boss'd with diamonds large, by rubies fir'd,

Like beauty's eye in rage, or roses white
Lit by the glowing red. Beside him lay
A bunch of poppied corn ; and at his feet
A tamed lion as his footstool crouch'd.
Cas'd o'er in burnish'd plates I, hors'd, did
bear

A snow-white eagle on a silver shaft,
From whence great Pharaoh's royal banner