It may be the sole flower of thy life, And that of all who now look up to thee!

O Father, Father! unto thee even now Fate cries; the future with imploring voice Cries 'Save me,' 'Save me,' though thou hearest not.

And O thou Sacrifice, foredoomed by Zeus; Even now the dark inexorable deed Is dealing its relentless stroke, and vain Are prayers, and tears, and struggles, and despair!

The mother's tears, the nation's stormful grief, The people's indignation and revenge!

Vain the last childlike pleading voice for life, The quick resolve, the young heroic brow, So like, so like, and vainly beautiful!

Oh! whosoe'er ye are the Muse says not, And sees not, but the G.o.ds look down on both.

THE LONGEST DAY

On yonder hills soft twilight dwells And Hesper burns where sunset dies, Moist and chill the woodland smells From the fern-covered hollows uprise; Darkness drops not from the skies, But shadows of darkness are flung o'er the vale From the boughs of the chestnut, the oak, and the elm, While night in yon lines of eastern pines Preserves alone her inviolate realm Against the twilight pale.

Say, then say, what is this day, That it lingers thus with half-closed eyes, When the sunset is quenched and the orient ray Of the roseate moon doth rise, Like a midnight sun o'er the skies!

'Tis the longest, the longest of all the glad year, The longest in life and the fairest in hue, When day and night, in bridal light, Mingle their beings beneath the sweet blue, And bless the balmy air!

Upward to this starry height The culminating seasons rolled; On one slope green with spring delight, The other with harvest gold, And treasures of Autumn untold: And on this highest throne of the midsummer now The waning but deathless day doth dream, With a rapturous grace, as tho' from the face Of the unveiled infinity, lo, a far beam Had fall'n on her dim-flushed brow!

Prolong, prolong that tide of song, O leafy nightingale and thrush!

Still, earnest-throated blackcap, throng The woods with that emulous gush Of notes in tumultuous rush.

Ye summer souls, raise up one voice!

A charm is afloat all over the land; The ripe year doth fall to the Spirit of all, Who blesses it with outstretched hand; Ye summer souls, rejoice!

TO ROBIN REDBREAST

Merrily 'mid the faded leaves, O Robin of the bright red breast!

Cheerily over the Autumn eaves, Thy note is heard, bonny bird; Sent to cheer us, and kindly endear us To what would be a sorrowful time Without thee in the weltering clime: Merry art thou in the boughs of the lime, While thy fadeless waistcoat glows on thy breast, In Autumn's reddest livery drest.

A merry song, a cheery song!

In the boughs above, on the sward below, Chirping and singing the live day long, While the maple in grief sheds its fiery leaf, And all the trees waning, with bitter complaining, Chestnut, and elm, and sycamore, Catch the wild gust in their arms, and roar Like the sea on a stormy sh.o.r.e, Till wailfully they let it go, And weep themselves naked and weary with woe.

Merrily, cheerily, joyously still Pours out the crimson-crested tide.

The set of the season burns bright on the hill, Where the foliage dead falls yellow and red, Picturing vainly, but foretelling plainly The wealth of cottage warmth that comes When the frost gleams and the blood numbs, And then, bonny Robin, I'll spread thee out crumbs In my garden porch for thy redbreast pride, The song and the ensign of dear fireside.

SONG

The daisy now is out upon the green; And in the gra.s.sy lanes The child of April rains, The sweet fresh-hearted violet, is smelt and loved unseen.

Along the brooks and meads, the daffodil Its yellow richness spreads, And by the fountain-heads Of rivers, cowslips cl.u.s.ter round, and over every hill.

The crocus and the primrose may have gone, The snowdrop may be low, But soon the purple glow Of hyacinths will fill the copse, and lilies watch the dawn.

And in the sweetness of the budding year, The cuckoo's woodland call, The skylark over all, And then at eve, the nightingale, is doubly sweet and dear.

My soul is singing with the happy birds, And all my human powers Are blooming with the flowers, My foot is on the fields and downs, among the flocks and herds.

Deep in the forest where the foliage droops, I wander, fill'd with joy.

Again as when a boy, The sunny vistas tempt me on with dim delicious hopes.

The sunny vistas, dim with hurrying shade, And old romantic haze:- Again as in past days, The spirit of immortal Spring doth every sense pervade.

Oh! do not say that this will ever cease; - This joy of woods and fields, This youth that nature yields, Will never speak to me in vain, tho' soundly rapt in peace.

SUNRISE

The clouds are withdrawn And their thin-rippled mist, That stream'd o'er the lawn To the drowsy-eyed west.

Cold and grey They slept in the way, And shrank from the ray Of the chariot East: But now they are gone, And the bounding light Leaps thro' the bars Of doubtful dawn; Blinding the stars, And blessing the sight; Shedding delight On all below; Glimmering fields, And wakening wealds, And rising lark, And meadows dark, And idle rills, And labouring mills, And far-distant hills Of the fawn and the doe.

The sun is cheered And his path is cleared, As he steps to the air From his emerald cave, His heel in the wave, Most bright and bare; In the tide of the sky His radiant hair From his temples fair Blown back on high; As forward he bends, And upward ascends, Timely and true, To the breast of the blue; His warm red lips Kissing the dew, Which sweetened drips On his flower cupholders; Every hue From his gleaming shoulders Shining anew With colour sky-born, As it washes and dips In the pride of the morn.

Robes of azure, Fringed with amber, Fold upon fold Of purple and gold, Vine-leaf bloom, And the grape's ripe gloom, When season deep In noontide leisure, With cl.u.s.tering heap The tendrils clamber Full in the face Of his hot embrace, Fill'd with the gleams Of his firmest beams.

Autumn flushes, Roseate blushes, Vermeil tinges, Violet fringes, Every hue Of his flower cupholders, O'er the clear ether Mingled together, Shining anew From his gleaming shoulders!

Circling about In a coronal rout, And floating behind, The way of the wind, As forward he bends, And upward ascends, Timely and true, To the breast of the blue.

His bright neck curved, His clear limbs nerved, Diamond keen On his front serene, While each white arm strains To the racing reins, As plunging, eyes flashing, Dripping, and dashing, His steeds triple grown Rear up to his throne, Ruffling the rest Of the sea's blue breast, From his flooding, flaming crimson crest!

PICTURES OF THE RHINE

I

The spirit of Romance dies not to those Who hold a kindred spirit in their souls: Even as the odorous life within the rose Lives in the scattered leaflets and controls Mysterious adoration, so there glows Above dead things a thing that cannot die; Faint as the glimmer of a tearful eye, Ere the orb fills and all the sorrow flows.

Beauty renews itself in many ways; The flower is fading while the new bud blows; And this dear land as true a symbol shows, While o'er it like a mellow sunset strays The legendary splendour of old days, In visible, inviolate repose.

II

About a mile behind the viny banks, How sweet it was, upon a sloping green, Sunspread, and shaded with a branching screen, To lie in peace half-murmuring words of thanks!

To see the mountains on each other climb, With s.p.a.ces for rich meadows flowery bright; The winding river freshening the sight At intervals, the trees in leafy prime; The distant village-roofs of blue and white, With intersections of quaint-fashioned beams All slanting crosswise, and the feudal gleams Of ruined turrets, barren in the light; - To watch the changing clouds, like clime in clime; Oh sweet to lie and bless the luxury of time.

III

Fresh blows the early breeze, our sail is full; A merry morning and a mighty tide.

Cheerily O! and past St. Goar we glide, Half hid in misty dawn and mountain cool.

The river is our own! and now the sun In saffron clothes the warming atmosphere; The sky lifts up her white veil like a nun, And looks upon the landscape blue and clear; - The lark is up; the hills, the vines in sight; The river broadens with his waking bliss And throws up islands to behold the light; Voices begin to rise, all hues to kiss; - Was ever such a happy morn as this!

Birds sing, we shout, flowers breathe, trees shine with one delight!