THE THREE SEASONS OF LOVE.

With laughter swimming in thine eye, That told youth's heartfelt revelry; And motion changeful as the wing Of swallow waken'd by the spring; With accents blythe as voice of May Chaunting glad Nature's roundelay; Circled by joy like planet bright That smiles 'mid wreathes of dewy light,-- Thy image such, in former time, When thou, just entering on thy prime, And woman's sense in thee combined Gently with childhood's simplest mind, First taught'st my sighing soul to move With hope towards the heaven of love!

Now years have given my Mary's face A thoughtful and a quiet grace:-- Though happy still,--yet chance distress Hath left a pensive loveliness; Fancy has tamed her fairy gleams, And thy heart broods o'er home-born dreams!

Thy smiles, slow-kindling now and mild, Shower blessings on a darling child; Thy motion slow, and soft thy tread, As if round thy husht infant's bed!-- And when thou speak'st, thy melting tone, That tells thy heart is all my own, Sounds sweeter, from the lapse of years, With the wife's love, the mother's fears!

By thy glad youth, and tranquil prime a.s.sured, I smile at h.o.a.ry time!

For thou art doom'd in age to know The calm that wisdom steals from woe; The holy pride of high intent, The glory of a life well-spent.

When, earth's affections nearly o'er, With Peace behind, and Faith before, Thou render'st up again to G.o.d, Untarnish'd by its frail abode, Thy l.u.s.trous soul,--then harp and hymn, From bands of sister seraphim, Asleep will lay thee, till thine eye Open in Immortality.

TO A SLEEPING CHILD.

Art thou a thing of mortal birth, Whose happy home is on our earth?

Does human blood with life embue Those wandering veins of heavenly blue, That stray along thy forehead fair, Lost 'mid a gleam of golden hair?

Oh! can that light and airy breath Steal from a being doom'd to death; Those features to the grave be sent In sleep thus mutely eloquent; Or, art thou, what thy form would seem, The phantom of a blessed dream?

A human shape I feel thou art, I feel it, at my beating heart, Those tremors both of soul and sense Awoke by infant innocence!

Though dear the forms by fancy wove, We love them with a transient love; Thoughts from the living world intrude Even on her deepest solitude: But, lovely child! thy magic stole At once into my inmost soul, With feelings as thy beauty fair, And left no other vision there.

To me thy parents are unknown; Glad would they be their child to own!

And well they must have loved before, If since thy birth they loved not more.

Thou art a branch of n.o.ble stem, And, seeing thee, I figure them.

What many a childless one would give, If thou in their still home wouldst live!

Though in thy face no family-line Might sweetly say, "This babe is mine!"

In time thou would'st become the same As their own child,--all but the name!

How happy must thy parents be Who daily live in sight of thee!

Whose hearts no greater pleasure seek Than see thee smile, and hear thee speak, And feel all natural griefs beguiled By thee, their fond, their duteous child.

What joy must in their souls have stirr'd When thy first broken words were heard, Words, that, inspired by Heaven, express'd The transports dancing in thy breast!

As for thy smile!--thy lip, cheek, brow, Even while I gaze, are kindling now.

I called thee duteous: am I wrong?

No! truth, I feel, is in my song: Duteous thy heart's still beatings move To G.o.d, to Nature, and to Love!

To G.o.d!--for thou a harmless child Hast kept his temple undefiled: To Nature!--for thy tears and sighs Obey alone her mysteries: To Love!--for fiends of hate might see Thou dwell'st in love, and love in thee!

What wonder then, though in thy dreams Thy face with mystic meaning beams!

Oh! that my spirit's eye could see Whence burst those gleams of extacy!

That light of dreaming soul appears To play from thoughts above thy years.

Thou smil'st as if thy soul were soaring To Heaven, and Heaven's G.o.d adoring!

And who can tell what visions high May bless an infant's sleeping eye?

What brighter throne can brightness find To reign on than an infant's mind, Ere sin destroy, or error dim, The glory of the Seraphim?

But now thy changing smiles express Intelligible happiness.

I feel my soul thy soul partake.

What grief! if thou should'st now awake!

With infants happy as thyself I see thee bound, a playful elf: I see thou art a darling child Among thy playmates, bold and wild.

They love thee well; thou art the queen Of all their sports, in bower or green; And if thou livest to woman's height, In thee will friendship, love delight.

And live thou surely must; thy life Is far too spiritual for the strife Of mortal pain, nor could disease Find heart to prey on smiles like these.

Oh! thou wilt be an angel bright!

To those thou lovest, a saving light!

The staff of age, the help sublime Of erring youth, and stubborn prime; And when thou goest to Heaven again, Thy vanishing be like the strain Of airy harp, so soft the tone The ear scarce knows when it is gone!

Thrice blessed he! whose stars design His spirit pure to lean on thine; And watchful share, for days and years, Thy sorrows, joys, sighs, smiles, and tears!

For good and guiltless as thou art, Some transient griefs will touch thy heart, Griefs that along thy alter'd face Will breathe a more subduing grace, Than ev'n those looks of joy that lie On the soft cheek of infancy.

Though looks, G.o.d knows, are cradled there That guilt might cleanse, or sooth despair.

Oh! vision fair! that I could be Again, as young, as pure as thee!

Vain wish! the rainbow's radiant form May view, but cannot brave the storm; Years can bedim the gorgeous dies That paint the bird of paradise, And years, so fate hath order'd, roll Clouds o'er the summer of the soul.

Yet, sometimes, sudden sights of grace, Such as the gladness of thy face, O sinless babe! by G.o.d are given To charm the wanderer back to Heaven.

No common impulse hath me led To this green spot, thy quiet bed, Where, by mere gladness overcome, In sleep thou dreamest of thy home.

When to the lake I would have gone, A wondrous beauty drew me on, Such beauty as the spirit sees In glittering fields, and moveless trees, After a warm and silent shower, Ere falls on earth the twilight hour.

What led me hither, all can say, Who, knowing G.o.d, his will obey.

Thy slumbers now cannot be long: Thy little dreams become too strong For sleep,--too like realities: Soon shall I see those hidden eyes!

Thou wakest, and, starting from the ground, In dear amazement look'st around; Like one who, little given to roam, Wonders to find herself from home!

But, when a stranger meets thy view, Glistens thine eye with wilder hue.

A moment's thought who I may be, Blends with thy smiles of courtesy.

Fair was that face as break of dawn, When o'er its beauty sleep was drawn Like a thin veil that half-conceal'd The light of soul, and half-reveal'd.

While thy hush'd heart with visions wrought, Each trembling eye-lash moved with thought, And things we dream, but ne'er can speak, Like clouds came floating o'er thy cheek, Such summer-clouds as travel light, When the soul's heaven lies calm and bright; Till thou awok'st,--then to thine eye Thy whole heart leapt in extacy!

And lovely is that heart of thine, Or sure these eyes could never shine With such a wild, yet bashful glee, Gay, half-o'ercome timidity!

Nature has breath'd into thy face A spirit of unconscious grace; A spirit that lies never still, And makes thee joyous 'gainst thy will.

As, sometimes o'er a sleeping lake Soft airs a gentle ripling make, Till, ere we know, the strangers fly, And water blends again with sky.

Oh! happy sprite! didst thou but know What pleasures through my being flow From thy soft eyes, a holier feeling From their blue light could ne'er be stealing, But thou would'st be more loth to part, And give me more of that glad heart!

Oh! gone thou art! and bearest hence The glory of thy innocence.

But with deep joy I breathe the air That kiss'd thy cheek, and fann'd thy hair, And feel though fate our lives must sever, Yet shall thy image live for ever!

MY COTTAGE.

One small spot Where my tired mind may rest and call it _home_.

There is a magic in that little word; It is a mystic circle that surrounds Comforts and virtues never known beyond The hallowed limit.

_Southey's Hymn to the Penates._

Here have I found at last a home of peace To hide me from the world; far from its noise, To feed that spirit, which, though sprung from earth And link'd to human beings by the bond Of earthly love, hath yet a loftier aim Than perishable joy, and through the calm That sleeps amid the mountain-solitude, Can hear the billows of eternity, And hear delighted.