"Now, soldier, blessings on your tongue; O, husband, that you knew
How well our boy pays me this day for all that I've gone through,
All I have done and borne for him the long years since you're dead!
But, soldier, tell me how he looked, and all my Robert said." "He's bronzed, and tanned, and bearded, and you'd hardly know him, dame,
We've made your boy into a man, but still his heart's the
For often, dame, his talk's of you, and always to one tune; But there, his ship is nearly home, and he'll be with you soon.' "O is he really coming home, and shall I really see My boy again, my own boy, home; and when, when will it be? Did you say soon ?"-" Well, he is home; keep cool, old dame; he's here."
"O, Robert, my own blessed boy!”—“ "O, mother-mother dear!"
82. WHY SHOULD NOT I BE MERRY?
THE sun is careering in glory and might,
'Mid the deep blue sky and the clouds so bright;
The billow is tossing its foam on high,
And the summer breezes go lightly by;
The air and the water dance, glitter, and play,
And why should not I be as merry as they?
The linnet is singing the wild wood through,
The fawn's bounding footsteps skim over the dew,
The butterfly flits round the blossoming tree,
And the cowslip and blue-bell are bent by the bee:
All the creatures that dwell in the forest are gay,
And why should not I be as merry as they?
83. THE TRYSTING.
WE were young sisters,-we were four,
That passed from out the cottage door,
And danced with linked hands, merrily,
Down to the maple trysting-tree.
The rough brown bark we smoothed away,
And wrote, "Here, on the next May-day,
We'll come the morning-star to see,
Beneath the maple trysting-tree."
First Alice-she was eldest-came;
Then Mary feebly wrote her name,
And, smiling, gave the style to me,
To write upon the trysting-tree.
Then Lilian, so tall and fair,
Threw back her curls of golden hair,
And high above the other three,
She wrote upon the trysting-tree.
"The youngest am I," then she said,
"But highest is my little head;
My name stands first, and you shall see,
I first will seek the trysting-tree."
A year passed by,-Oh, year of pain!
When, slowly, hand in hand again,
Mary and Alice went with me,
On May-day to the trysting-tree.
The stars were shining, calm and still;
The maple shade was on the hill;
And not a bird awoke to see
Our weeping 'neath the trysting-tree.
But low, and still, and sweet, we heard
The sleeping leaves all gently stirr'd ;-
We bowed our heads, we knew that she
Was waiting at the trysting-tree!
Then came the breeze, so soft and bland,
And kissed each cheek, and touched each hand;
And Lilian's spirit, heavenly free,
Was with us at the trysting-tree!
84. THE CHILD IN THE WILDERNESS.
ENCINCTURED With a twine of leaves,
That leafy twine his only dress!
A lovely boy was plucking fruits,
In a moonlight wilderness.
The moon was bright, the air was free,
And fruits and flowers together grew
And many a shrub and many a tree:
And all put on a gentle hue,
Hanging in the shadowy air
Like a picture rich and rare.
It was a climate where, they say
The night is more belov'd than day.
But who that beauteous Boy beguil'd
That beauteous Boy to linger here?
Alone, by night, a little child,
In place so silent and so wild-
Has he no friend, no loving mother near?
85. BIRDS IN SUMMER.
How pleasant the life of a bird must be,
Flitting about in each leafy tree;
In the leafy trees, so broad and tall,
Like a green and beautiful palace-hall,
With its airy chambers, light and bcon,
That open to sun, and stars, and moon;
That open unto the bright blue sky,
And the frolicsome winds as they wander by.
They have left their nests in the forest-bough,
Those homes of delight they need not now?
And the young and the old they wander out,
And traverse their green world round about:
And hark! at the top of this leafy hall,
How one to the other in love they call.
"Come up! come up!" they seem to say,
"Where the topmost twigs in the breezes sway."
"Come up, come up! for the world is fair Where the merry leaves dance in the summer air." And the birds below give back the cry,
e come, we come to the branches high." How pleasant the lives of the birds must be, Living in love in a leafy tree!
And, away through the air what joy to go,
And to look on the bright green earth below!
How pleasant the life of a bird must he,
Skimming about on the breezy sea,
Cresting the billows like silvery foam,
Then wheeling away to its cliff-built home!
What joy it must be to sail, upborne
By a strong, free wing, through the rosy morn;
To meet the young sun face to face,
And pierce like a shaft the boundless space;
To pass through the bowers of the silver cloud;
To sing in the thunder-halls aloud;
To spread out the wings for a wild, free flight
With the upper-cloud winds,-oh, what delight!
Oh, what would I give, like a bird, to go,
Right on through the arch of the sun-lit bow,
And see how the water-drops are kist
Into green and yellow, and amethyst!
How pleasant the life of a bird must be,
Wherever it listeth, there to flee;
To go, when a joyful fancy calls,
Dashing adown 'mong the waterfalls;
Then to wheel about with its mates at play,
Above and below and among the spray,
Hither and thither, with screams as wild
As the laughing mirth of a rosy child!
What joy it must be, like a living breeze,
To flutter about 'mid the flowering trees;
Lightly to soar, and to see beneath
The wastes of the blossoming purple heath,
And the yellow furze, like fields of gold
That gladdened some fairy region old!
On mountain tops, on the billowy sea,
On the leafy stems of the forest tree,
How pleasant the life of a bird must be!
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