But Error, wounded, writhes in pain, Like those who fell in battle here! Another hand the sword shall wield, FROM "THE RIVULET." AND I shall sleep; and on thy side, The patter of his little feet, And graver looks, serene and high, The bow, the band, shall fall to dust; Not thus his nobler part shall dwell, Shall break these clods, a form of light, THE BURIAL OF LOVE. Two dark-eyed maids, at shut of day, Bring flowers, they sang, bring flowers unblown; Bring forest blooms of name unknown; Close softly, fondly, while ye weep, And make his grave where violets hide, But we shall mourn him long, and miss ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. [1809-1861.] THE SLEEP. OF all the thoughts of God that are What would we give to our beloved? "He giveth His beloved sleep." · What do we give to our beloved? "Sleep soft, beloved!" we sometimes say But have no tune to charm away ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep. O earth, so full of dreary noises! His dews drop mutely on the hill, Ay, men may wonder while they scan For me, my heart, that erst did go And, friends, dear friends, when it shall be That this low breath is gone from me, BERTHA IN THE LANE. PUT the broidery-frame away, Though the clock stands at the noon, Sister, help me to the bed, And stand near me, dearest-sweet! Blushing with a sudden heat! By God's love I go to meet, Lean thy face down! drop it in 191 These two hands, that I may hold 'Twixt their palms thy cheek and chin, Stroking back the curls of gold. "T is a fair, fair face, in sooth, Larger eyes and redder mouth Than mine were in my first youth! I have words thine ear to fill, And would kiss thee at my will. Dear, I heard thee in the spring, Boughs of May-bloom for the bees. What a day it was, that day! Hills and vales did openly At the sight of the great sky; Through the winding hedge-rows green, And the gates that showed the view; Till the pleasure, grown too strong, I sat down beneath the beech Which leans over to the lane, But the sound grew into word As the speakers drew more nearSweet, forgive me that I heard What you wished me not to hear. He had claimed with hasty claim! Had he seen thee, when he swore He would love but me alone? Thou wert absent, -sent before To our kin in Sidmouth town. When he saw thee, who art best Past compare, and loveliest, He but judged thee as the rest. Could we blame him with grave words, Thou and I, dear, if we might? Thy brown eyes have looks like birds Flying straightway to the light; Mine are older. Hush!-look outUp the street! Is none without? How the poplar swings about! And that hour-beneath the beech- That he owed me all esteem, I fell flooded with a dark, In the silence of a swoon : From myself when I could stand, When you met me at the door; Dripping from me to the floor; Do not weep so-dear-heart-warm! I speak wild, I am not well. Then I always was too grave, Liked the saddest ballads sung, I am pale as crocus grows Close beside a rose-tree's root! Yet who plucks me?-no one mourns; And now die of my own thorns, Which I could not live without. Are there footsteps at the door? Some last word that I might say. Colder grow my hands and feet: When I wear the shroud I made, And, dear Bertha, let me keep On my hand this little ring, Which at nights, when others sleep, I can still see glittering. Let me wear it out of sight, In the grave,-where it will light All the dark up, day and night. On that grave drop not a tear! Else, though fathom-deep the place, Through the woollen shroud I wear I shall feel it on my face. Rather smile there, blessed one, Art thou near me? nearer? so! eyes, 193 Kiss me close upon the That the earthly light may go Sweetly as it used to rise, When I watched the morning gray Strike, betwixt the hills, the way He was sure to come that day. So no more vain words be said! The hosannas nearer rollMother, smile now on thy dead, I am death-strong in my soul! Mystic Dove alit on cross, Guide the poor bird of the snows Through the snow-wind above loss! Jesus, Vietim, comprehending Love's divine self-abnegation, Cleanse my love in its self-spending, And absorb the poor libation! Wind my thread of life up higher, Up through angels' hands of fire!I aspire while I expire! A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT. WHAT was he doing, the great god Pan, And breaking the golden lilies afloat He tore out a reed, the great god Pan, From the deep, cool bed of the river, The limpid water turbidly ran, And the broken lilies a-dying lay, And the dragon-fly had fled away, Ere he brought it out of the river. High on the shore sat the great god Pan, Till there was not a sign of a leaf indeed He cut it short, did the great god Pan, (How tall it stood in the river!) man, Then drew the pith like the heart of a | And how, when one by one sweet sounds and wandering lights departed, He wore no less a loving face because so broken-hearted; Steadily from the outside ring, "This is the way," laughed the great god Pan, (Laughed while he sate by the river!) "The only way since gods began To make sweet music, they could succeed." Then dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed, He blew in power by the river. He shall be strong to sanctify the poet's high vocation, And bow the meekest Christian down in meeker adoration; Nor ever shall he be, in praise, by wise or good forsaken; Named softly as the household name of one whom God hath taken. With quiet sadness and no gloom I learn to think upon him, With meekness that is gratefulness to And wrought within his shattered brain such quick poetic senses As The hills have language for, and stars harmonious influences! pulse of dew upon the grass kept his within its number; And silent shadows from the trees refreshed him like a slumber. Wild timid hares were drawn from woods to share his home-caresses, Uplooking to his human eyes with sylvan tendernesses: The very world, by God's constraint, from falsehood's ways removing, Its women and its men became, beside him, true and loving. But though in blindness he remained unconscious of that guiding, And things provided came without the He testified this solemn truth, while sweet sense of providing, Nor man nor nature satisfy whom only frenzy desolated, God created! |