MAIDENHOOD. Deep and still that gliding stream Then why pause with indecision, Seest thou shadows sailing by, Hear'st thou voices on the shore, O thou child of many prayers! Like the swell of some sweet tune, Morning rises into noon, May glides onward into June! Childhood is the bough where slumbered Gather then each flower that grows, Bear a lily in thy hand; Gates of brass cannot withstand Bear, through sorrow, wrong, and ruth, In thy heart the dew of youth, On thy lips the smile of truth. 195: O that dew like balm shall steal And that smile, like sunshine, dart For a smile of God thou art. HENRY W. LONGFELLOW, She was a Phantom of Delight. HE was a phantom of delight SHE When first she gleamed upon my sight; A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament. Her eyes as stars of twilight fair; I saw her upon nearer view, Her household motions light and free, A countenance in which did meet For human nature's daily food— And now I see with eye serene The very pulse of the machine; LUCY. The reason firm, the temperate will, With something of an angel light. WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. Lucy. HE dwelt among the untrodden ways SHE Beside the springs of Dove, A maid whom there were none to praise, A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye! Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be; But she is in her grave, and, O! The difference to me! Three years she grew in sun and shower; On earth was never sown; This child I to myself will take; She shall be mine, and I will make A lady of my own. "Myself will to my darling be The girl, in rock and plain, In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, To kindle or restrain. 197 “She shall be sportive as the fawn That wild with glee across the lawn Or up the mountain springs; And hers shall be the breathing balm, Of mute insensate things, "The floating clouds their state shall lend To her; for her the willow bend: Nor shall she fail to see, Even in the motions of the storm, Grace that shall mould the maiden's form By silent sympathy. "The stars of midnight shall be dear To her; and she shall lean her ear Where rivulets dance their wayward round, Shall pass into her face. "And vital feelings of delight Shall rear her form to stately height, Such thoughts to Lucy I will give, Here in this happy dell." Thus Nature spake.—The work was done— She died, and left to me This heath, this calm and quiet scene; The memory of what has been, And never more will be. WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. AT THE WINDOW. At the Window. HE lady she sits at her window; THE I sit at my window and look, And my fancies flock gladly toward her, I scarce know the name of the lady, Her soul is as brave as the mountains- Sometimes her white fingers fly deftly For she is but a clerk, is this lady; But of comforts, and riches, and splendors, And crown us with glories and lusters As the stars of the Lord crown the sky 199 |