Songs Ysame

As if he knew a thousand more.

And thou, sweet maid, whose gentle thought
In smiles or tears finds present vent,
What feeling could thy soul be taught,
Or who has words more eloquent?

Ophelia

CALM dost thou lie in wave-swept resting-place.
No more the glances of the haughty Dane
Can fill thy gentle breast with longing vain.
The waves that stilled thy heart have drowned thy pain,
And washed the sorrow from thy sweet, pale face,
Ophelia.

Thine be the violets, but his the rue.
Though hope should sleep, and deep regret should wake,
Thy clasped hand from Death's he could not take;
The spell on those mute lips he could not break.
What more with life and love hast thou to do,
Ophelia?

Requiem

SLEEP, thou, whom Care so long oppressed.
Care whispers by thy couch no more.
Kind Death has shut the outer door;
None can disturb thee, – sleep and rest.

Thy hands are folded on thy breast
That throbs with Life's deep pain no more.
Though Love waits grieving by thy door,
He cannot enter, – sleep and rest.

Elizabeth

ELIZABETH,
Thou comest a refreshing breath
From meadows green, where morning stays,
To those who bear the noon-tide blaze.

Elizabeth,
Thou couldst look in the eyes of Death,
Undaunted, did he promise thee
Some bright new scene of mirth or glee.
I cannot think that time will gray
That sun-bright head, nor bear away
One dimple in those rose-cheeks hid;
Sure he were daring if he did.

Elinor

IN that shadow-land, where the Sisters three
Are weaving the web of destiny,
There floated once through the fateful gloom
A thread of sunshine, that gleamed upon
The thread of a life from the distaff drawn,
And mingling, they passed to the busy loom.
The wondering Parcea looked and smiled,
As the light grew into the soul of a child,
And in and out and through devious ways,
They wove it in with the woof of days.
But they said on earth (who knew not the Fates)
"As the lily's chalice holds the dew,
So in her heart, at the morning's gates,
She caught the sunshine, when she came through."

On a Fly-Leaf of "Flute and Violin."

A    MASTER-HAND hath swept
Life's violin and flute.
For him they laughed and wept
When others found them mute.

From his high altitude
He catches, fine and clear,
The notes that might elude
A less discerning ear.

Transposing to a lower key
The dream-song that he hears,
He sets his heavenly melody
To human smiles and tears.

Inspiration

THE singer walks by wood and rill,
By town and stately river,
And varied scenes his vision fill,
And make his pulses quiver.

But when his song comes borne across
On winds from dreamland blowing,
We cannot tell what mystic touch
Has set his chimes a-going.

We hear the robins in his rhyme,
We see the orchards drifted
With crests of bloom that glimmer white