English

When by the fire we sit with hand in hand,
My spirit seems to watch beside your knee,
Alert and eager at your least command
To do your bidding over earth and sea;
You sigh—and of that dubious message fain,
I scour the world to bring you what you lack,
Till, from some island of the spicy main,
The pressure of your fingers calls me back:
You smile,—and I, who love to be your slave,
Post round the orb at your fantastic will,
Though, while my fancy skims the laughing wave,
My hand lies happy in your hand, and still;

Oh the sweet, sweet lapsing of the tide,
Through the still hours of the golden afternoon!
Oh the warm, red sunshine, far and wide,
Falling soft as in the crowning days of June!

Calls the gray sandpiper from the quiet shore,
Weave the swallows light and music through the air,
Chants the sparrow all his pleasure o'er and o'er,
Sings and smiles the Spring, and sparkles everywhere.

Well I know that death and pain to all are near,
That, save sorrow, naught is certain this world gives;

TO BE SUNG IN THE NORTH.

On the slopes of lofty mountains
Where the long-drawn Summers shine,
By the generous radiance quickened,
Nature bears the golden vine.

Her mysterious operations
Are concealed from mortal sight,
Her intention is unfathomed,
And inscrutable her might.

Sparkling like a son of morning,
Flashing like a fiery stream,
From the cask the liquor rushes
Crystal clear, with ruddy gleam.

It rejoices all the senses,
And the timid heart inspires;

Elements four
Bound in one thrall,
Counterfeit life,
Constitute all.

Juice of the lemon —
Squeeze it and pour!
Sharpness of life
Is the real core.

Now let the sugar,
Mellow and sweet,
Soften the bitter,
Temper its heat.

Now for the water!
Fill up the bowl.
Water well measured
Mixes the whole.

Dashes of spirit
It will require:
Nothing like spirit
Life to inspire!

Ere it evaporates
Quaff it in haste!
Only when strong

Through all the changing scenes of life,
In trouble and in joy,
The praises of my God shall still
My heart and tongue employ.

Come, magnify the Lord with me,
And high exalt his name;
When in distress on him I call'd,
He to my rescue came.

The hosts of God encamp around
The dwellings of the just;
Deliv'rance he affords to all,
Who on his succor trust.

Oh! make but trial of his love;
Experience will decide,
How bless'd are they, and only they,
Who in his truth confide.

Desire and hope have moved my mind
To seek for that I cannot find,
Assured faith in woman-kind;
And love with love rewarded.
Self-love all but himself disdains;
Suspect as chiefest virtue reigns;
Desire of change, unchanged remains:
So light is love regarded.

True friendship is a naked name,
That idle brains in pastime frame;
Extremes are always worthy blame,
Enough is common kindness.
What floods of tears do lovers spend,
What sighs from out their hearts they send,

All happy things are earnest. Once I roamed
In England, or in Dreamland, through the streets
Of a huge, buzzing, dense, metropolis.
Slowly, in teeming thoroughfares, I walked,
One of the people, hearing with their ears,
Beholding with their eyes, and in their thought
Divining, till my soul was filled with grief
At all that I beheld, and felt, and knew.

It was a gibing, laughing, sneering crowd,
Devoid of truth, faith, love, and earnestness,
Except a horrid earnestness for gain;

The venerable Past — is past;
'Tis dark, and shines not in the ray:
'Twas good, no doubt — 'tis gone at last —
There dawns another day.
Why should we sit where ivies creep,
And shroud ourselves in charnels deep;
Or the world's yesterdays deplore,
Mid crumbling ruins mossy hoar?
Why should we see with dead men's eyes,
Looking at Was from morn to night,
When the beauteous Now, the divine To B E ,

Take my word for it
That the Gods never
Wander alone.
If I happen to come across Bacchus the jolly,
Up runs little Cupid with simpering folly,
And Phaebus I cannot disown.
They come and they come in their heavenly mirth,
And Deities people the mansions of Earth.

How shall I treat them,
Being but mortal,
They from the sky?
Gods, grant me a taste of your being immortal,
But expect no return from this transient portal;
Raise me to Olympus on high!
In Jupiter's halls is true bliss for the soul —

It is but a plank which bestrides the crevasse,
'Twixt life and eternity hovers the scale,
The giants of Nature are holding the pass
And angrily threats of destruction exhale.
Through the horrid domain thou must stealthily creep
Lest the terrible avalanche wake from his sleep.

A bridge there hovers far over the edge
Of the gloomy depths beneath which cower;
No hand of mortal upreared that ledge,
That were beyond all mortal power.
The torrents may rage on it as they will
Early and late — it stands there still.