66

Heart, be free of me this day.”
Waited with a patient will -

AND I WAIT BETWEEN THEM STILL.

I take the year back to my life and story,

The dead year and say,

66 I will share in thy tomb. 'All the kings of the nations lie in glory;'

Cased in cedar, and shut in a sacred gloom!

They reigned in their lifetime with sceptre and diadem.

But thou excellest them;

For life doth make thy grave her oratory.
And the crown is still on thy brow;
All the kings of the nations lie in glory,'
And so dost thou."

REFLECTIONS.

Written for the Portfolio Society, July, 1862.

LOOKING OVER A GATE AT A POOL IN A FIELD.

WHAT change has made the pastures sweet
And reached the daisies at my feet,

And cloud that wears a golden hem?
This lovely world, the hills, the sward-
They all look fresh, as if our Lord

But yesterday had finished them.

And here's the field with light aglow;
How fresh its boundary lime-trees show,

And how its wet leaves trembling shine!
Between their trunks come through to me
The morning sparkles of the sea

Below the level browsing line.

I see the pool more clear by half
Than pools where other waters laugh

Up at the breasts of coot and rail.
There, as she passed it on her way,
I saw reflected yesterday

A maiden with a milking-pail.
There, neither slowly nor in haste,
One hand upon her slender waist,
The other lifted to her pail,
She, rosy in the morning light,
Among the water-daisies white,

Like some fair sloop appeared to sail.

Against her ankles as she trod
The lucky buttercups did nod.

I leaned upon the gate to see:

The sweet thing looked, but did not speak; A dimple came in either cheek,

And all my heart was gone from me.

Then, as I lingered on the gate,
And she came up like coming fate,

I saw my picture in her eyes

Clear dancing eyes, more black than sloes,
Cheeks like the mountain pink, that grows
Among white-headed majesties.

I said, "A tale was made of old
That I would fain to thee unfold;

Ah! let me let me tell the tale."

But high she held her comely head; "I cannot heed it now," she said,

"For carrying of the milking-pail.”

She laughed. What good to make ado?
I held the gate, and she came through,
And took her homeward path anon.
From the clear pool her face had fled;

It rested on my heart instead,
Reflected when the maid was gone.
With happy youth, and work content,
So sweet and stately on she went,

Right careless of the untold tale.
Each step she took I loved her more,
And followed to her dairy door

The maiden with the milking-pail.

II.

For hearts where wakened love doth lurk,
How fine, how blest a thing is work!

For work does good when reasons fail-
Good; yet the axe at every stroke
The echo of a name awoke-

Her name is Mary Martindale.

I'm glad that echo was not heard
Aright by other men: a bird

Knows doubtless what his own notes tell; And I know not; but I can say

I felt as shame-faced all that day

As if folks heard her name right well.

And when the west began to glow
I went—I could not choose but go-
To that same dairy on the hill ;
And while sweet Mary moved about
Within, I came to her without,

And leaned upon the window-sill.

The garden border where I stood

Was sweet with pinks and southern-wood. I spoke her answer seemed to fail;

I smelt the pinks-I could not see;
The dusk came down and sheltered me,
And in the dusk she heard my tale.

And what is left that I should tell?
I begged a kiss, I pleaded well:

The rosebud lips did long declinę ;
But yet I think, I think 'tis true,
That leaned at last into the dew,
One little instant they were mine.

O life! how dear thou hast become:
She laughed at dawn, and I was dumb,
But evening counsels best prevail.
Fair shine the blue that o'er her spreads,
Green be the pastures where she treads,
The maiden with the milking-pail!

THE LETTER L.

ABSENT.

We sat on grassy slopes that meet
With sudden dip the level strand;
The trees hung overhead-

Were on the sand.

our feet

Two silent girls, a thoughtful man,
We sunned ourselves in open light,
And felt such April airs as fan
The Isle of Wight;

And smelt the wall-flower in the crag
Whereon that dainty waft had fed,
Which made the bell-hung cowslip wag
Her delicate head;

And let alighting jackdaws fleet

Adown it open-winged, and pass

Till they could touch with outstretched feet

The warmèd grass.

The happy wave ran up and rang
Like service bells a long way off,
And down a little freshet sprang
From mossy trough,

And splashed into a rain of spray,

And fretted on with daylight's loss, Because so many blue-bells lay Leaning across.

Blue martins gossiped in the sun,

And pairs of chattering daws flew by,
And sailing brigs rocked softly on
In company.

Wild cherry boughs above us spread
The whitest shade was ever seen,
And flicker, flicker, came and fled
Sun-spots between.

Bees murmured in the milk-white bloom

As babes will sigh for deep content

When their sweet hearts for peace make room, As given, not lent.

And we saw on: we said no word,

And one was lost in musings rare,
One buoyant as the waft that stirred
Her shining hair.

His eyes were bent upon the sand,
Unfathomed deeps within them lay;
A slender rod was in his hand-

A hazel spray.

Her eyes were resting on his face,
As shyly glad by stealth to glean
Impressions of his manly grace
And guarded mien;