Ere that seven-yeared distress
In the painful wilderness,
Ere that wasting sickness came,
Undermining quite her frame,
All come back,- the light, the hue,
Tinge her cheek and lip anew :
Far from her, O far away,
All that is so quick to say,
"Man returneth to his clay";
All that to our creeping fear
Whispers of corruption near.
Seems it as she would illume,
With her radiance and her bloom,
The dark spaces of the tomb.
Archbishop Trench
ALM on the bosom of thy God,
Fair spirit, rest thee now!
E'en while with ours thy footsteps trod
His seal was on thy brow.
Dust, to its narrow house beneath!
Soul, to its place on high!
They, that have seen thy look in death,
No more may fear to die.
O rest, forever rest, O Princely Pair!
Where horn, and hound, and vassals, never come,
Only the blessed Saints are smiling dumb
From the rich painted windows of the nave
On aisle, and transept, and your marble grave;
Where thou, young Prince, shalt never more arise
From the fringed mattress where thy Duchess lies,
On Autumn mornings, when the bugle sounds,
And ride across the drawbridge with thy hounds
To hunt the boar in the crisp woods till eve.
And thou, O Princess, shalt no more receive,
Thou and thy ladies in the hall of state,
The jaded hunters with their bloody freight,
Coming benighted to the castle gate.
So sleep, forever sleep, O Marble Pair!
And if ye wake, let it be then, when fair,
On the carved western front, a flood of light
Streams from the setting sun, and colors bright
Prophets, transfigured saints, and martyrs brave,
In the vast western window of the nave ;
And on the pavement round the tomb there glints
A chequer-work of glowing sapphire tints,
And amethyst, and ruby ;- then unclose
Your eyelids on the stone where ye rèpose,
And from your broidered pillows lift your heads,
And rise upon your cold white marble beds,
And looking down on the warm rosy tints
That chequer, at your feet, the illumined flints,
Say What is this? we are in bliss,-forgiven,
Behold the pavement of the courts of Heaven!".
Or let it be on Autumn nights, when rain
Doth rustlingly above your heads complain
On the smooth leaden roof; and on the walls,
Shedding her pensive light at intervals,
The moon through the clerestory windows shines;
And the wind washes in the mountain pines.
Then gazing up through the dim pillars high,
The foliaged marble forest where ye lie,
"Hush!" ye will say "it is eternity!
This is the glimmering verge of Heaven, and these
The columns of the Heavenly Palaces."
And in the sweeping of the wind, your ear
The passage of the Angels' wings will hear,
And on the lichen-crusted leads above
The rustle of the eternal rain of Love.
A SONG of a boat boat on a billow
Lightly she rocked to her port remote,
And the foam was white in her wake like snow,
And her frail mast bowed when the breeze would
And bent like a wand of willow.
I shaded mine eyes one day-when a boat
Went curtseying over the billow;
I marked her course till, a dancing mote,
She faded out on the moonlit foam,
And I stayed behind in the dear-loved home :
And my thoughts all day were about the boat,
And my dreams upon the pillow.
I pray you hear my song of a boat,
For it is but short :--
My boat, you shall find none fairer afloat,
In river or port.
Long I looked out for the lad she bore
On the open desolate sea,
And I think he sailed to the heavenly shore,
For he came not back to me.
There was once a nest in a hollow,
Down in the mosses and knot-grass pressed,
Soft and warm, and full to the brim;
Vetches leaned over it, purple and dim,
With buttercup buds to follow.
I pray you hear my song of a nest,
For it is not long :-
You shall never light in a summer quest
The bushes among,-
Shall never light on a prouder sitter,
A fairer nestful, nor ever know
A softer sound than their tender twitter,
That wind-like did come and go.
I had a nestful once of my own,
Ah happy, happy I!
Right dearly I loved them : but when they were grown
They spread out their wings to fly;
O, one after one they flew away
Far up to the heavenly blue,
To the better country, the upper day,
And I wish I was going too.
pray you, what is the nest to me,
And what is the shore where I stood to see
My boat sail down to the west?
Can I call that home where I anchor yet,
Though my good man has sailed?
Can I call that home where my heart was set
Now all its hope has failed?
Nay, but the port where my sailor went,
And the land where my nestlings be;
There is the home where my hopes are sent,
The only home for me.
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