THE HONEYMOON.

WE were married, and we wandered
In Italy, land of love;

With the greenest sward of all lands,
And the bluest sky above.

Italy's daughters we beheld,

But none to equal thee, love;
When thou wast there, not one was fair,-
Not one seemed fair to me, love.

We saw Madonnas with gentle eyes,—
Thine do more gently shine, love;
And Venus with her witcheries,
That could not equal thine, love.

And Dian's everlasting calm

Is throned upon thy brow, love;
And regal Juno's swelling form
I see before me now, love.

What wonder that I turned my eyes
From loveliest scenes to thee, love?
The fairest thing beneath those skies
Had been vouchsafed to me, love.

THE POET.

(PUBLISHED AUGUST, 1858.)

ONE hour talks he with a tiny child,
The next, with a hoary sage;
Roams like a genius carelessly wild,
Or toils for a daily wage.

He lies and muses in summer shade,
Or struggles along the street;
Anon in the unfrequented glade,

Or where crouds tumultuous meet.

.

He purchases wisdom with smiles and tears,
Of man, or of solitude;

The woes of mankind, their hopes and fears,
To him come with freight of good.

For his eye beholdeth everything
In the light of eternities;
Each mystery is a common thing,
And common things mysteries.

To act and to labour are his,
But he loves to muse and sing;
He teaches the world by melodies
That in highest heaven ring.

ENTERING LIFE.

THY path is before thee,
To find or to make;
O'er mountains that awe thee,
Through river and brake.

The world is before thee,

To ruin or save.
The choice is before thee,
Of ruler or slave.

Open heart, and free spirit,

Strong arm for the fight ;—
On in all merit !

God and the right!

Leave the unknown part,
Work at the known;

God does His own part,

Do thou thine own.

BEAUTY.

(PUBLISHED APRIL 26TH, 1857.)

I THOUGHT upon my dream,— The thing of beauty that had passed before me, Powerful to delight me and to awe me, Above all things that seem:

Sufficing to the sense

Fully, and yet more fully to the spirit;
Yielding delight, and causing to inherit
The same for all time hence :

But it had gone from sight,
Leaving behind it its most strange sensation;
As if, long after the great sun's translation,
I felt the warmth and light.

The wild desire remained
After that beauty; longings passionate
To have and hold; thereon my future fate
Depended, lost or gained.

I sought it everywhere:

I thought a moment it was in the flowers,—
Ah, no! I looked unto the cloudy bowers;
There was no spirit there.

To bring it into view

I fondly sought, day after weary day,
On paper, or in marble; then away
Pencil and chisel threw.

The poets' verse, I said,

Can give it; and I read their visionings,
But none had seen the glory of its wings,
Nor living bards nor dead.

Presumptuously I sought

To write my dream.

I trembled on its verge;

But, though my life stood by to cheer and urge, Words would not reach the thought.

Beneath the summer skies

I met a maiden by a silver stream:

"At last," I cried, "the beauty of my dream!" Alas! not here it lies!

Desire eats up this clay;

My eyes are dim with looking out in vain; My thought is torment, and my hope is pain, And so I waste away.

What do I see? The sky

Is opened.-There I see it! It is given!
That Beauty only can be found in Heaven:
My Father, let me die!

TWILIGHT.

A FRAGMENT.

'Tis twilight, and the distant hills
Are bluer than the deep blue sky;
Delicious sense of stillness fills

The quiet landscape far and nigh.
The flowers fold their weary leaves,
They bend to earth their weary heads;
On autumn fields, on golden sheaves,
Baptismal dew the evening sheds.
The silence sleeps on hill and glen,
On rural farm, and city mart;
"Sweet peace!" I cried, and cry again,
But sweeter peace is in my heart.

BEAUTY.

BEAUTY is a spirit fair,
Ever near, yet ever rare;
Poetry is beauty's speech,
It to every heart can reach ;
Music, too, is beauty's song,
Soft and low, or clear and strong.
Painting is her shadow's name,-
Very faint and dim, alas!
And a sculpture she became
Once, when beauty frozen was.

SONGS.

LOVE'S DAY.

(PUBLISHED 1858.)

OH! the time was sweet

When beautiful love was born!
When first in the woods we used to meet,
And the violets clustered about her feet;
Oh, that was love's crimson Morn!

Oh! the time was bright

When I held love's dearest boon; When before the altar, in God's own sight, Our throbbing vows we had met to plight; Oh, that was love's golden Noon !

Oh the time is blest,

Now I neither rejoice nor grieve;

But am calm and happy in home's dear rest,
Loved and loving, caressing, caressed;
Oh, this is love's silver Eve!