DAUGHTERS OF TOIL. And as I mused on later days, When moved she in her matron duty, A happy mother, in the blaze Of ripened hope and sunny beauty I felt the chill-I turned aside Bleak Desolation's cloud came o'er me; And Being seemed a troubled tide, 205 Whose wrecks in darkness swam before me! WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED O Daughters of Toil. PALE with want and still despair, And faint with hastening others' gain! Whose finely fibered natures bear The double curse of work and pain; Whose days are long with toil unpaid, And short to meet the crowding want; Whose nights are short for rest delayed, And long for stealthy fears to haunt To whom my lady, hearing faint The distance-muffled cry of need, The cup of water, cold indeed; The while my lord, pursuing gains With wageless labor from your veins What hope for you that better days Far shines the Good, and faintly throws His face against the window-pane. What hope for you that mansions free O brothers! sisters! who would fain One note of some despairing cry- By tangled social bands perplexed, EVANGELINE M. JOHNSON. The Convict Ship. MORN on the waters!—and purple and bright Bursts on the billows the flushing of light! O'er the glad waves, like a child of the sun, See the tall vessel goes gallantly on: Full to the breeze she unbosoms her sail, And her pennant streams onward, like hope in the gale! The winds come around her in murmur and song, And the surges rejoice as they bear her along! THE CONVICT SHIP. Upward she points to the golden-edged clouds, Bright as the visions of youth ere they part, Night on the waves !—and the moon is on high, Seems not the ship like an island of rest? Like a heart-cherished home on some desolate plain ! Spreading her wings on the bosom of night, 'Tis thus with our life while it passes along, Like a vessel at sea amid sunshine and song! Gayly we glide in the gaze of the world, With streamers afloat and with canvas unfurled; 207 All gladness and glory to wandering eyes— As the smiles we put on-just to cover our tears; And the vessel drives on to that desolate shore, Where the dreams of our childhood are vanished and o'er i THOMAS K. HERVEY. W When from the Heart. HEN from the heart where Sorrow sits And o'er the changing aspect flits, And clouds the brow, or fills the eye; My thoughts their dungeon know too well; And bleed within their silent cell. LORD BYRON. The Long-Ago. EYES, which can but ill define Shapes that rise about and near,— Through the far horizon's line Stretch a vision free and clear; Memories, feeble to retrace Yesterday's immediate flow, Find a dear familiar face In each hour of Long-ago. THE LONG-AGO. Follow yon majestic train Down the slopes of old renown; Sainted heads without a frown: As the heart of childhood brings Youthful Hope's religious fire, Ashes of impure desire On the altars it bereaves; But the light that fills the Past Ever farther it is cast O'er the scenes of Long-ago. Many a growth of pain and care, 209 |