By those white cliffs I never more must see, WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. Born 1775. Died 1864. SWEET SCENTS. When hath wind or rain Borne hard upon weak plants that wanted me, And I (however they might bluster round) And nurse and pillow the dull memory That would let drop without them her best stores. THE SHELL. I HAVE sinuous shells of pearly hue Within, and they that lustre have imbibed And murmurs as the ocean murmurs there. From Gebir. ROSE AYLMER. H what avails the sceptered race, OH Oh what the form divine! What every virtue, every grace! Rose Aylmer, all were thine. Rose Aylmer whom these wakeful eyes A night of memories and of sighs I ON HIS SEVENTY-FIFTH BIRTHDAY. STROVE with none, for none was worth my strife, I warmed both hands before the fire of life, ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER. Born 1835. Died 1864. A LOST CHORD. EATED one day at the Organ, SEA I was weary and ill at ease, I do not know what I was playing, It flooded the crimson twilight Like the close of an Angel's Psalm, It quieted pain and sorrow, It linked all perplexed meanings. I have sought, but I seek it vainly, Which came from the soul of the Organ, It may be that Death's bright angel JOHN KEBLE. Born 1792. Died 1866. L FIRST SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY. ESSONS sweet of spring returning, Welcome to the thoughtful heart! May I call ye sense or learning, Instinct pure, or Heaven-taught art? Be your title what it may, Sweet the lengthening April day, While with you the soul is free, Ranging wild o'er hill and lea. Soft as Memnon's harp at morning, Touched by light, with heavenly warning Your transporting chords ring out. Every leaf in every nook, Every wave in every brook, Chanting with a solemn voice, Minds us of our better choice. Needs no show of mountain hoary, Teaches truth to wandering men : Give true hearts but earth and sky, See the soft green willow springing Every way her free arms flinging O'er the moist and reedy grass. Though the rudest hand assail her, But when showers and breezes hail her, If, the quiet brooklet leaving, Where the thickest boughs are twining There they plunge, the light declining All may hear, but none may see. So they live in modest ways, |