Ballads of Beauty

The twilight of the trees and rocks
Is in the light shade of thy locks;
Thy step is as the wind, that weaves
Its playful way among the leaves.

Thine eyes are springs, in whose serene
And silent waters heaven is seen;
Their lashes are the herbs that look
On their young figures in the brook.

The forest depths, by foot unpressed,
Are not more sinless than thy breast;
The holy peace that fills the air
Of those calm solitudes, is there.

Louise on the Doorstep

Half-past three in the morning!
And no one in the street
But me, on the sheltering doorstep
Resting my weary feet,
Watching the rain-drops patter
And dance where the puddles run,
As bright in the flaring gas-light
As dew-drops in the sun.

There's a light upon the pavement,
It shines like a magic glass,
And there are faces in it
That look at me and pass.
Faces – ah! well remembered
In the happy Long Ago,
When my garb was white as lilies,
And my thoughts as pure as snow.

Faces! ah, yes! I see them —
One, two, and three – and four —
That come in the gust of tempests,
And go on the winds that bore.
Changeful and evanescent,
They shine mid storm and rain,
Till the terror of their beauty
Lies deep upon my brain.

One of them frowns; I know him,
With his thin, long, snow-white hair, —
Cursing his wretched daughter
That drove him to despair.
And the other, with wakening pity
In her large, tear-streaming eyes,
Seems as she yearned towards me,
And whispered "Paradise."

They pass, – they melt in the ripples,
And I shut mine eyes, that burn,
To escape another vision
That follows where'er I turn —
The face of a false deceiver
That lives and lies; ah, me!
Though I see it in the pavement,
Mocking my misery!

They are gone, all three! – quite vanished!
Let nothing call them back!
For I've had enough of phantoms,
And my heart is on the rack.
God help me in my sorrow!
But there, – in the wet, cold stone,
Smiling in heavenly beauty,
I see my lost, mine own!

There, on the glimmering pavement,
With eyes as blue as morn,
Floats by the fair-haired darling
Too soon from my bosom torn.
She clasps her tiny fingers,
She calls me sweet and mild,
And says that my God forgives me
For the sake of my little child.

I will go to her grave to-morrow,
And pray that I may die;
And I hope that my God will take me
Ere the days of my youth go by.
For I am old in anguish,
And long to be at rest,
With my little babe beside me,
And the daisies on my breast.

Our Skater Belle

Along the frozen lake she comes
In linking crescents, light and fleet;
The ice-imprisoned Undine hums
A welcome to her little feet.

I see the jaunty hat, the plume
Swerve bird-like in the joyous gale, —
The cheeks lit up to burning bloom,