But what I look for comes not near,
My Ulric's hawk and hounds.
Three times I thus have watched the snow
Grow crimson with the stain,
The setting sun threw o'er the rock,
And I have watched in vain.
1 love to see the graceful bow
Across his shoulder slung,-
I love to see the golden horn
Beside his baldric hung.
I love his dark hounds, and I love
His falcon's sweeping flight;
I love to see his manly cheek
With mountain colors bright.
I've waited patiently, but now
Would that the chase was o'er: Well may he love the hunter's toil, But he should love me more.
Why stays he thus ?—he would be here,
If his love equalled mine;
Methinks had I one fond caged dove,
I would not let it pine.
But, hark! what are those ringing steps
That up the valley come?
I see his hounds-I see himself,—
My Ulric, welcome home'
VIOLETS!-deep-blue violets!
April's loveliest coronets!
There are no flowers grow in the vale,
Kissed by the dew, wooed by the gale,—
None by the dew of the twilight wet,
So sweet as the deep-blue violet;
I do remember how sweet a breath
Came with the azure light of a wreath
That hung round the wild harp's golden chords,
Which rang to my dark-eyed lover's words.
I have seen that deep harp rolled
With gems of the East and bands of gold;
But it never was sweeter than when set
With leaves of the deep-blue violet!
And when the grave shall open for me,-
I care not how soon that time may be,-
Never a rose shall grow on that tomb,
It breathes too much of hope and of bloom;
But there be that flower's meek regret,
The bending and deep-blue violet!
SHE prest her slight hand to her brow, or pain
Or bitter thoughts were passing there. The room
Had no light but that from the fireside,
Which showed, then hid her face. How very pale
It looked, when over it the glimmer shone!
Is not the rose companion of the spring?
Then wherefore has the red-leaved flower forgotten
Her cheek? The tears stood in her large dark eyes-
Her beautiful dark eyes-like hyacinth stars,
When shines their shadowy glory through the dew
That summer nights have wept ;-she felt them not,
Her heart was far away! Her fragile form,
Like the young willow when for the first time
The wind sweeps o'er it rudely, had not lost
Its own peculiar grace; but it was bowed
By sickness, or by worse than sickness-sorrow!
And this is Love!-O! why should woman love;
Wasting her dearest feelings, till health, hope,
Happiness, are but things of which henceforth
She'll only know the name? Her heart is seared:
A sweet light has been thrown upon its life,
To make its darkness the more terrible.
AND the muffled drum rolled on the air,
Warriors with stately step were there;
On every arm was the black crape bound,
Every carbine was turned to the ground;
Solemn the sound of their measured tread,
As silent and slow they followed the dead.
The riderless horse was led in the rear,
There were white plumes waving over the bier;
Helmet and sword were laid on the pall
For it was a soldier's funeral.
That soldier had stood on the battle-plain,
Where every step was over the slain:
But the brand and the ball had passed him by,
And he came to his native land to die.
'Twas hard to come to that native land,
And not clasp one familiar hand!
'Twas hard to be numbered amid the dead,
Or ere he could hear his welcome said!
But 'twas something to see its cliffs once more,
And to lay his bones on his own loved shore;
To think that the friends of his youth might weep
O'er the green grass turf of the soldier's sleep.
The bugles ceased their wailing sound
As the coffin was lowered into the ground;
A volley was fired, a blessing said,
One moment's pause-and they left they dead!
I saw a poor and an aged man,
His step was feeble, his lip was wan:
He knelt him down on the new-raised mound,
His face was bowed on the cold damp ground,
He raised his head, his tears were done,—
The father had prayed o'er his only son!
WRITTEN UNDER THE PICTURE OF A GIRL BURNING A LOVE-LETTER.
I TOOK the scroll: I could not brook,
An eye to gaze on it save mine;
I could not bear another's look
Should dwell upon one thought of thine.
My lamp was burning by my side,
I held thy letter to the flame,
I marked the blaze swift o'er it glide,
It did not even spare thy name
Soon the light from the embers past,
I felt so sad to see it die,
So bright at first, so dark at last,
I feared it was love's historv
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