Songs of Three Centuries

SPRING, with that nameless pathos in the At times a fragrant breeze comes floating

air

Which dwells with all things fair, Spring, with her golden suns and silver rain,

Is with us once again.

Out in the lonely woods the jasmine burns
Its fragrant lamps, and turns
Into a royal court with green festoons,
The banks of dark lagoons.

In the deep heart of every forest tree
The blood is all aglee,

And there's a look about the leafless
bowers

As if they dreamed of flowers.

Yet still on every side we trace the hand
Of Winter in the land,

Save where the maple reddens on the
lawn,

Flushed by the season's dawn;

Or where, like those strange semblances

we find

That age to childhood bind,

by,

And brings, you know not why,
A feeling as when eager crowds await
Before a palace gate

Some wondrous pageant; and you scarce
would start,

If from a beech's heart,

A blue-eyed Dryad, stepping forth, should

slacken,

The braces are taut, the lithe boom quivers, And the waves with the coming squallcloud blacken.

The elm puts on, as if in Nature's scorn, Open one point on the weather-bow,

The brown of autumn corn.

Is the lighthouse tall on Fire Island
Head?

As yet the turf is dark, although you There's a shade of doubt on the captain's

know

That, not a span below,

A thousand germs are groping through the gloom,

And soon will burst their tomb.

In gardens you may note amid the dearth,
The crocus breaking earth;
And near the snowdrop's tender white
and green,

The violet in its screen.

But many gleams and shadows need must

pass

Along the budding grass,

And weeks go by, before the enamored
South

Shall kiss the rose's mouth.

brow,

And the pilot watches the heaving lead.

I stand at the wheel, and with eager eye,
To sea and to sky and to shore I gaze,
Till the muttered order of "Full and by!”
Is suddenly changed for "Full for stays!"
The ship bends lower before the breeze,
As her broadside fair to the blast she lays;
And she swifter springs to the rising seas,
As the pilot calls, "Stand by for stays!"

It is silence all, as each in his place,
With the gathered coil in his hardened
hands,

By tack and bowline, by sheet and brace,
Waiting the watchword impatient stands.

And the light on Fire Island Head draws | What matters the reef, or the rain, or the

squall?

I steady the helm for the open sea; The first mate clamors, "Belay there, all!"

And the captain's breath once more comes free.

LOVE, when all these years are silent, vanished quite and laid to rest, When you and I are sleeping, folded breathless breast to breast,

When no morrow is before us, and the long grass tosses o'er us, And our grave remains forgotten, or by alien footsteps pressed,

Still that love of ours will linger, that great love enrich the earth, Sunshine in the heavenly azure, breezes blowing joyous mirth;

Fragrance fanning off from flowers,

Sparkle of the spicy wood-fires round the melody of summer showers, happy autumn hearth.

That's our love. But you and I, dear, -shall we linger with it yet, Mingled in one dewdrop, tangled in one sunbeam's golden net,

On the violet's purple bosom, I the

sheen, but you the blossom, Stream on sunset winds and be the haze with which some hill is wet?

Or, beloved, if ascending, when we have endowed the world With the best bloom of our being, whither will our way be whirled, Through what vast and starry spaces,

toward what awful holy places, With a white light on our faces, spirit over spirit furled?

WILLIAM WINTER.

JOAQUIN MILLER.

313

Only this our yearning answers,-where- | Come with a smile, auspicious friend,

so'er that way defile,

Not a film shall part us through the æons of that mighty while,

In the fair eternal weather, even as

phantoms still together, Floating, floating, one forever, in the light of God's great smile!

To usher in the eternal day! Of these weak terrors make an end, And charm the paltry chains away That bind me to this timorous clay!

And let me know my soul akin

To sunrise and the winds of morn, And every grandeur that has been Since this all-glorious world was born, Nor longer droop in my own scorn.

Come, when the way grows dark and chill,
Come, when the baffled mind is weak,
And in the heart that voice is still

Which used in happier days to speak,
Or only whispers sadly meek.

Come with a smile that dims the sun!

With pitying heart and gentle hand! And waft me, from a work that's done, To peace that waits on thy command, In God's mysterious better land!

WILLIAM WINTER.

[U. s. A.]

AZRAEL.

COME with a smile, when come thou must,
Evangel of the world to be,
And touch and glorify this dust, -

This shuddering dust that now is me, -
And from this prison set me free!

Long in those awful eyes I quail,
That gaze across the grim profound:
Upon that sea there is no sail,

Nor any light, nor any sound,
From the far shore that girds it round.

Only two still and steady rays,
That those twin orbs of doom o'ertop;
Only- -a quiet, patient gaze

That drinks my being, drop by drop,
And bids the pulse of nature stop.

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A weakness for the weaker side,
A siding with the helpless weak.

A palm not far held out a hand;
Hard by a long green bamboo swung,
And bent like some great bow unstrung,
And quivered like a willow wand;
Beneath a broad banana's leaf,
Perched on its fruits that crooked hung,
A bird in rainbow splendor sung
A low, sad song of tempered grief.

No sod, no sign, no cross nor stone,
But at his side a cactus green
Upheld its lances long and keen;
It stood in hot red sands alone,
Flat-palmed and fierce with lifted spears ;
One bloom of crimson crowned its head,
A drop of blood, so bright, so red,
Yet redolent as roses' tears.
In my left hand I held a shell,
All rosy lipped and pearly red;
I laid it by his lowly bed,
For he did love so passing well
The grand songs of the solemn sea.
O shell! sing well, wild, with a will,
When storms blow hard and birds be still,
The wildest sea-song known to thee!

I said some things, with folded hands,
Soft whispered in the dim sea-sound,
And eyes held humbly to the ground,
And frail knees sunken in the sands.
He had done more than this for me,
And yet I could not well do more:
I turned me down the olive shore,
And set a sad face to the sea.

Over the sea, and reaching away,
And against the east, a soft light falls,
Silvery soft as the mist of morn,
And I catch a breath like the breath of
day.

The east is blossoming! Yea, a rose,
Vast as the heavens, soft as a kiss,
Sweet as the presence of woman is,
Rises and reaches and widens and grows
Right out of the sea, as a blossoming tree;
Richer and richer, so higher and higher,
Deeper and deeper it takes its hue;
Brighter and brighter it reaches through
The space of heaven and the place of stars,
Till all is as rich as a rose can be,

And my rose-leaves fall into billows of fire.
Then beams reach upward as arms from

SUNRISE IN VENICE.

NIGHT seems troubled and scarce asleep;
Her brows are gathered in broken rest;
Sullen old lion of dark St. Mark,
And a star in the east starts up from the
deep;

White as my lilies that grow in the west.
Hist! men are passing hurriedly.
I see the yellow wide wings of a bark
Sail silently over my morning-star.
I see men move in the moving dark,
Tall and silent as columns are,-
Great sinewy men that are good to see,
With hair pushed back and with open

breasts;

Barefooted fishermen seeking their boats, Brown as walnuts and hairy as goats,

UNKNOWN.

DIFFERENT POINTS OF VIEW.

SAITH the white owl to the martin folk, In the belfry tower so grim and gray: "Why do they deafen us with these bells? Is any one dead or born to-day!"

A martin peeped over the rim of its nest, And answered crossly: "Why, ain't you heard

That an heir is coming to the great

estate?"

"I'ave n't," the owl said, "pon my. word."

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