Page images
PDF
EPUB
[blocks in formation]

Whereof his closest knoweth not the plan,— Can aught dwell there save self and solitude? II.

No other self walks with me o'er its floors; The nearest, dearest, truest of my friends Knows but the vestibule; nor ever wends Beyond the silence of its guarded doors.

III.

The reflex of a smile is sometime thrown,
A Mother's smile, upon its inner way,
Sweet lips and eyes of tenderness, to stay
Awhile with Love; but not to keep the throne.

IV.

The crypt is void, although a dear dead face,
With faint aureola of angel's hair,
Brings down at times a light that lingers there,
That sheds its gold, yet cannot fill the place.

V.

O small white hand now clasping nothingness! O voice of song! could she in life have fill'd The inner chamber and its aching still'd? Nay- God alone must fill it--nothing less!

THE PEARL OF PEACE.

A BIVALVE feeding in the warm salt sea
Draws inward, with the wave, a sandy grain,
Which, not returning with the wave again,
Remains henceforth its secret grief to be.
Day after day, so sea-wise folk agree,

The creature hides it in a dew-like rain
Of ceaseless tears, till, harden'd out of pain,
A precious pearl is fashion'd perfectly.

From outer seas of passion, seas of strife,
There drifts at times upon the human heart
A secret rankling grief that day by day
We cover with the bitter tears of life,
Till, wrought of pain from out our nobler part,
The pearl of Peace remains with us alway.

QUATRAINS.

AMBITION.

The royal eagle hawketh not for flies,

Nor mates the soaring skylark with the wren; So, scorning narrow aims of lesser men, Move to their goal, the minds of high emprise. FRIENDSHIP. I.

Some Friendships are like leaves; when skies are fair

Their green flags flutter, making glad the day;

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

She will not show her face, though woo'd by kings, Till o'er her beat the pulsings of thy wings. -Blow, Wild March Wind. ROSES.

But a cry, as of pain, arose in Eden

A sharp cry, from the lips of Eve, embower'd
'Mid her roses, she, plucking milky blossoms,
Felt thorns twain, on a sudden, smite her finger;
Sharp thorns, sharper than spears, the first in Eden;
For the roses were thornless, smooth as willow,
Ere her sinfulness. Blood-drops stain'd the petals,
Erst as white as the hellebore in winter;
And she, musing, beheld a wondrous marvel-
Where the beads of her blood the leaves ensanguin'd,
Lo! red roses were born, as joys in sorrow,
A rose, red as the nut-tree bloom in spring-days.
-The Birth of the Red-Rose.
MEMORY.

Upon the mirror-surface of the mind

The Beautiful imprints itself, in shades

And colors of its own, and thenceforth lives,

[merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small]

O eyes! where dwelt the witchery of power,
Dark eyes and deep that beam'd from out a bower
Of lashes curl'd like stamens of a flower.

O hair of night! not flowing light and free
As wintry tresses of the birchen tree,
But serpent-wound and braided royally.
O form! the beauty of the Greek inbred,
Such gracious curves of brow, and lip, and chin,
And stately throat, and fair full breasts wherein
The Love-god's self might rest his drowsy head.
- A Memory.

SILENCE.

[ocr errors]

The wheel is silent, for the stream is dry,
The dead leaves drift, the green leaf turns to brown,
And on her grave the quiet stars look down.

- A Memory.

THE

ROBERT GILFILLAN.

HE sweet and plaintive lyric which preserves the name of Gilfillan takes its place among our standard songs as one of the best, if not the best of its kind. Its author was born in Dunfermline, in 1798, in very humble circumstances.

After learning the trade of a cooper in Leith, he became a clerk in a wine-merchant's office, and in 1837, was appointed collector of poor-rates for the burgh of Leith. He held this appointment till his death, which took place in 1850. Two editions of his poems have been published; but though some others of them are well written, none comes up to the standard of "Why Left I My Hame." J. R.

THE EXILE'S SONG. Tune-"My Ain Countrie." OH, why left I my hame? Why did I cross the deep? Oh, why left I the land Where my forefathers sleep? I sigh for Scotia's shore, And I gaze across the sea, But I canna get a blink O' my ain countrie!

The palm-tree waveth high, And fair the myrtle springs; And, to the Indian maid,

The bulbul sweetly sings; But I dinna see the broom

Wi' its tassels on the lea, Nor hear the lintie's sang O' my ain countrie!

Oh! here no Sabbath bell

Awakes the Sabbath morn, Nor song of reapers heard

Amang the yellow corn: For the tyrant's voice is here,

And the wail of slaverie; But the sun of freedom shines In my ain countrie!

There's a hope for every woe,
And a balm for every pain,
But the first joys o' our heart
Come never back again.
There's a track upon the deep,
And a path across the sea;
But the weary ne'er return
To their ain countrie!

[blocks in formation]
« PreviousContinue »