Part 15 (1/2)
_ONE LOVELY NAME._
One lovely name adorns my song, And, dwelling in the heart, For ever falters at the tongue, And trembles to depart.
_FORSAKEN._
Mother, I can not mind my wheel; My fingers ache, my lips are dry; Oh! if you felt the pain I feel!
But oh, who ever felt as I!
No longer could I doubt him true, All other men may use deceit; He always said my eyes were blue, And often swore my lips were sweet.
[Decoration]
FREDERICK LOCKER-LAMPSON.
1821-1895.
_A GARDEN LYRIC._
The flow of life is yet a rill That laughs, and leaps, and glistens; And still the woodland rings, and still The old Damoetas listens.
We have loiter'd and laugh'd in the flowery croft, We have met under wintry skies; Her voice is the dearest voice, and soft Is the light in her gentle eyes; It is bliss in the silent woods, among Gay crowds, or in any place To hear her voice, to gaze on her young Confiding face.
For ever may roses divinely blow, And wine-dark pansies charm By the prim box path where I felt the glow Of her dimpled, trusting arm, And the sweep of her silk as she turned and smiled A smile as pure as her pearls; The breeze was in love with the darling Child, As it moved her curls.
She showed me her ferns and woodbine-sprays, Foxglove and jasmine stars, A mist of blue in the beds, a blaze Of red in the celadon jars: And velvety bees in convolvulus bells, And roses of bountiful June-- Oh, who would think their summer spells Could die so soon!
For a glad song came from the milking shed, On a wind of the summer south, And the green was golden above her head, And a sunbeam kiss'd her mouth; Sweet were the lips where that sunbeam dwelt; And the wings of Time were fleet As I gazed; and neither spoke, for we felt Life was so sweet!
And the odorous limes were dim above As we leant on a drooping bough; And the darkling air was a breath of love, And a witching thrush sang ”Now!”
For the sun dropt low, and the twilight grew As we listen'd and sigh'd, and leant; That day was the sweetest day--and we knew What the sweetness meant.
[Decoration]
_THE CUCKOO._
We heard it calling, clear and low, That tender April morn; we stood And listened in the quiet wood, We heard it, ay, long years ago.
It came, and with a strange, sweet cry, A friend, but from a far-off land; We stood and listened, hand in hand, And heart to heart, my Love and I.
In dreamland then we found our joy, And so it seemed as 't were the Bird That Helen in old times had heard At noon beneath the oaks of Troy.
O time far off, and yet so near!
It came to her in that hush'd grove, It warbled while the wooing throve, It sang the song she loved to hear.
And now I hear its voice again, And still its message is of peace, It sings of love that will not cease-- For me it never sings in vain.