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Where sunbeams fall, flowers wave, and light birds warble,

To those who lov'd me murmuring in soft tone,

“Here lies our friend, from pain secure and cold;

And spreads his limbs in peace under the sun-warm'd mould !”

FLOWERS I WOULD BRING

FLOWERS I would bring if flowers could make thee fairer,

And music, if the Muse were dear to thee; (For loving these would make thee love the bearer)

But sweetest songs forget their melody, And loveliest flowers would but conceal the

wearer:

A rose I mark'd, and might have pluck'd; but she

Blush'd as she bent, imploring me to spare

her,

Nor spoil her beauty by such rivalry. Alas! and with what gifts shall I pursue thee,

What offerings bring, what treasures lay before thee;

When earth with all her floral train doth woo thee,

And all old poets and old songs adore thee; And love to thee is naught; from passionate

mood

Secur'd by joy's complacent plenitude!

HUMAN LIFE

SAD is our youth, for it is ever going,
Crumbling away beneath our very feet;
Sad is our life, for onward it is flowing,
In current unperceiv'd because so fleet;
Sad are our hopes for they were sweet in
sowing,

But tares, self-sown, have overtopp'd the wheat;

Sad are our joys, for they were sweet in blowing;

And still, O still, their dying breath is sweet:

And sweet is youth, although it hath bereft

us

Of that which made our childhood sweeter

still;

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You take a town you cannot keep;
And, forced in turn to fly,
O'er ruins you have made shall leap
Your deadliest enemy!
Her love is yours - and be it so-
But can you keep it? No, no, no!

Upon her brow we gaz'd with awe,

And lov'd, and wish'd to love, in vain But when the snow begins to thaw

We shun with scorn the miry plain. Women with grace may yield: but she Appear'd some Virgin Deity.

Bright was her soul as Dian's crest

Whitening on Vesta's fane its sheen : Cold look'd she as the waveless breast Of some stone Dian at thirteen. Men lov'd but hope they deem'd to be A sweet Impossibility!

THE QUEEN'S VESPERS

HALF kneeling yet, and half reclining, She held her harp against her knees : Aloft the ruddy roofs were shining,

And sunset touch'd the trees. From the gold border gleam'd like snow Her foot a crown enrich'd her brow: Dark gems confin'd that crimson vest Close-moulded on her neck and breast.

In silence lay the cloistral court

And shadows of the convent towers:
Well order'd now in stately sort

Those royal halls and bowers.
The choral chaunt had just swept by;
Bright arms lay quivering yet on high:
Thereon the warriors gaz'd, and then
Glanced lightly at the Queen again.

While from her lip the wild hymn floated,
Such grace in those uplifted eyes
And sweet, half absent looks, they noted
That, surely, through the skies

A Spirit, they deem'd, flew forward ever
Above that song's perpetual river,
And, smiling from its joyous track,
Upon her heavenly face look'd back.

CARDINAL MANNING

I LEARN'D his greatness first at Lavington: The moon had early sought her bed of brine,

But we discours'd till now each starry sign Had sunk our theme was one and one

alone:

"Two minds supreme," he said, “our earth has known;

One sang in science; one serv'd God in song;

TO IMPERIA

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Thomas Burbidge

THOU art not, and thou never canst be mine; The die of fate for me is thrown,

And thou art made

No more to me than some resplendent shade

Flung on the canvas by old art divine;
Or vision of shap'd stone;

Or the far glory of some starry sign
Which hath a beauty unapproachable
To aught but sight, - a throne
High in the heavens and out of reach,
Therefore with this low speech

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MOTHER'S LOVE

HE sang so wildly, did the Boy,
That you could never tell

If 't was a madman's voice you heard,
Or if the spirit of a bird

Within his heart did dwell:

A bird that dallies with his voice
Among the matted branches;

Or on the free blue air his note
To pierce, and fall, and rise, and float,
With bolder utterance launches.
None ever was so sweet as he,
The boy that wildly sang to me;
Though toilsome was the way and long,
He led me not to lose the song.

But when again we stood below
The unhidden sky, his feet

Grew slacker, and his note more slow,
But more than doubly sweet.
He led me then a little way
Athwart the barren moor,

And then he stayed and bade me stay
Beside a cottage door;

I could have stayed of mine own will,
In truth, my eye and heart to fill
With the sweet sight which I saw there,
At the dwelling of the cottager.

A little in the doorway sitting,
The mother plied her busy knitting,
And her cheek so softly smil'd,
You might be sure, although her gaze
Was on the meshes of the lace,
Yet her thoughts were with her child.
But when the boy had heard her voice,
As o'er her work she did rejoice,
His became silent altogether,
And slily creeping by the wall,
He seiz'd a single plume, let fall
By some wild bird of longest feather;
And all a-tremble with his freak,
He touch'd her lightly on the cheek.

Oh, what a loveliness her eyes
Gather in that one moment's space,
While peeping round the post she spies
Her darling's laughing face!
Oh, mother's love is glorifying,
On the cheek like sunset lying;
In the eyes a moisten'd light,
Softer than the moon at night!

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SHE wore a wreath of roses

The night that first we met;
Her lovely face was smiling
Beneath her curls of jet.
Her footstep had the lightness,
Her voice the joyous tone,-
The tokens of a youthful heart,
Where sorrow is unknown.
I saw her but a moment,

Yet methinks I see her now,
With the wreath of summer flowers
Upon her snowy brow.

A wreath of orange-blossoms,
When next we met, she wore ;
The expression of her features

Was more thoughtful than before; And standing by her side was one Who strove, and not in vain,

To soothe her, leaving that dear home
She ne'er might view again.

I saw her but a moment,
Yet methinks I see her now,

With the wreath of orange-blossoms
Upon her snowy brow.

And once again I see that brow;
No bridal-wreath is there,
The widow's sombre cap conceals
Her once luxuriant hair.

She weeps in silent solitude,
And there is no one near
To press her hand within his own,
And wipe away the tear.

I see her broken-hearted;

Yet methinks I see her now,
In the pride of youth and beauty,
With a garland on her brow.

OH! WHERE DO FAIRIES HIDE THEIR HEADS ?

OH! where do fairies hide their heads
When snow lies on the hills,

When frost has spoil'd their mossy beds,
And crystalliz'd their rills?
Beneath the moon they cannot trip
In circles o'er the plain;

And draughts of dew they cannot sip
Till green leaves come again.

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