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With only rags to wrap him round.
Dublin University Magazine
SWEET SISTER
("Vous qui ne savez pas combien l'enfance est belle.")
Sweet sister, if you knew, like me,
The charms of guileless infancy,
No more you'd envy riper years,
Or smiles, more bitter than your tears.
But childhood passes in an hour,
As perfume from a faded flower;
The joyous voice of early glee
Flies, like the Halcyon, o'er the sea.
Enjoy your morn of early Spring;
Soon time maturer thoughts must bring;
Those hours, like flowers that interclimb,
Should not be withered ere their time.
Too soon you'll weep, as we do now,
O'er faithless friend, or broken vow,
And hopeless sorrows, which our pride
In pleasure's whirl would vainly hide.
Laugh on! unconscious of thy doom,
All innocence and opening bloom;
Laugh on! while yet thine azure eye
Mirrors the peace that reigns on high.
MRS. B. SOMERS.
THE PITY OF THE ANGELS
("Un Ange vit un jour.")
{LA PITIÉ SUPREME VIII., 1881.}
When an angel of kindness
Saw, doomed to the dark,
Men framed in his likeness,
He sought for a spark —
Stray gem of God's glory
That shines so serene —
And, falling like lark,
To brighten our story,
Pure Pity was seen.
THE SOWER
Sitting in a porchway cool,
Fades the ruddy sunlight fast,
Twilight hastens on to rule —
Working hours are wellnigh past
Shadows shoot across the lands;
But one sower lingers still,
Old, in rags, he patient stands, —
Looking on, I feel a thrill.
Black and high his silhouette
Dominates the furrows deep!
Now to sow the task is set,
Soon shall come a time to reap.
Marches he along the plain,
To and fro, and scatters wide
From his hands the precious grain;
Moody, I, to see him stride.
Darkness deepens. Gone the light.
Now his gestures to mine eyes
Are august; and strange – his height
Seems to touch the starry skies.
TORU DUTT.
OH, WHY NOT BE HAPPY?{1}
("A quoi bon entendre les oiseaux?")
{RUY BLAS, Act II.}
Oh, why not be happy this bright summer day,
'Mid perfume of roses and newly-mown hay?
Great Nature is smiling – the birds in the air
Sing love-lays together, and all is most fair.
Then why not be happy
This bright summer day,
'Mid perfume of roses
And newly-mown hay?
The streamlets they wander through meadows so fleet,
Their music enticing fond lovers to meet;
The violets are blooming and nestling their heads
In richest profusion on moss-coated beds.
Then why not be happy
Dublin University Magazine
SWEET SISTER
("Vous qui ne savez pas combien l'enfance est belle.")
Sweet sister, if you knew, like me,
The charms of guileless infancy,
No more you'd envy riper years,
Or smiles, more bitter than your tears.
But childhood passes in an hour,
As perfume from a faded flower;
The joyous voice of early glee
Flies, like the Halcyon, o'er the sea.
Enjoy your morn of early Spring;
Soon time maturer thoughts must bring;
Those hours, like flowers that interclimb,
Should not be withered ere their time.
Too soon you'll weep, as we do now,
O'er faithless friend, or broken vow,
And hopeless sorrows, which our pride
In pleasure's whirl would vainly hide.
Laugh on! unconscious of thy doom,
All innocence and opening bloom;
Laugh on! while yet thine azure eye
Mirrors the peace that reigns on high.
MRS. B. SOMERS.
THE PITY OF THE ANGELS
("Un Ange vit un jour.")
{LA PITIÉ SUPREME VIII., 1881.}
When an angel of kindness
Saw, doomed to the dark,
Men framed in his likeness,
He sought for a spark —
Stray gem of God's glory
That shines so serene —
And, falling like lark,
To brighten our story,
Pure Pity was seen.
THE SOWER
Sitting in a porchway cool,
Fades the ruddy sunlight fast,
Twilight hastens on to rule —
Working hours are wellnigh past
Shadows shoot across the lands;
But one sower lingers still,
Old, in rags, he patient stands, —
Looking on, I feel a thrill.
Black and high his silhouette
Dominates the furrows deep!
Now to sow the task is set,
Soon shall come a time to reap.
Marches he along the plain,
To and fro, and scatters wide
From his hands the precious grain;
Moody, I, to see him stride.
Darkness deepens. Gone the light.
Now his gestures to mine eyes
Are august; and strange – his height
Seems to touch the starry skies.
TORU DUTT.
OH, WHY NOT BE HAPPY?{1}
("A quoi bon entendre les oiseaux?")
{RUY BLAS, Act II.}
Oh, why not be happy this bright summer day,
'Mid perfume of roses and newly-mown hay?
Great Nature is smiling – the birds in the air
Sing love-lays together, and all is most fair.
Then why not be happy
This bright summer day,
'Mid perfume of roses
And newly-mown hay?
The streamlets they wander through meadows so fleet,
Their music enticing fond lovers to meet;
The violets are blooming and nestling their heads
In richest profusion on moss-coated beds.
Then why not be happy
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