Page:Littell's Living Age - Volume 134.djvu/776

RANDOM CHORDS.

By Lady E. Campbell.

I. — ALONE.

"Seule à mon aurore, seule à mon coucher, je suis seule
⁠encore ici."
(Inscription sur un tombeau.) Corinne.

Alone! What a world of anguish lies
In that one short word! what tears and sighs!
Ah, dull werefhis selfish heart and cold
Could pass unmoved by this hallow'd mould,
Nor weep for her to whom death's deep rest
Seem'd sweeter than life by love unblest!

Who wert thou, upon whose nameless tomb
Are inscribed such words of grief and gloom?
Didst die consum'd by the fire of youth,
Deceived, alas! in thy dreams of truth?
Wert thou a poet, whose living lyre
Made deathless in song a vain desire?

Peace! Seek not aside to draw the veil
Whose mystery shrouds that piercing wail,
Nor deem the pity in thee it wakes
Be greater than His who gives and takes:
Thy love to His is a grain of sand.
Go thou, and leave her in God's good hand.

II. — "REQUIESCAT."

Blow soft, ye winds! among the dark pine trees
⁠Of this chill Northland, o'er the poet's tomb,
Whose childhood's home smiled where the scented breeze
⁠Wanders 'mid orange-bow'rs o'erladen with rich bloom —
And deck it fair, pure last-born of the snow,
⁠That first do hail the advancing feet of Spring.
So may a cov'ring meet for him below
⁠Be spread by Nature's hands — for her he lov'd to sing.

Cold lies the burning heart whose ev'ry thought
⁠Breath'd its whole fervor in impassioned song,
Still echoing in each soul its fire hath sought
⁠In that far lovely land he lov'd with love so strong —
Where now, alas! perchance there walketh one,
⁠With clasped hands beside the deep blue wave,
To whom its beauty is become as none
⁠Yearning to rest with him who sleeps in this lone grave.

Good Words.

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ALPINE HEIGHTS.

Like mighty thinkers, there they stand
Above the soft green pasture-land;
They yield no common yearly food,
To those lone heights ne'er climbs the wood,
"What do those giant idlers there?"
I asked; and streams the answer bare,
Which, foaming through the summer heat,
Rush down the rocks, and round the feet
Of those grey mountains coolness bring, —
The coolness of their glacier spring.
"Oh, brown would all these pastures lie,
If never peak had towered high
Above the zone where corn and oil
Can flourish and repay your toil.
Those grand calm heights, like sages, hold
Such treasures heaped from times of old,
Such stores of ice and snow to yield
Their cooling draught to thirsty field;
Those rugged shoulders bravely bear
New burdens for the coming year.
But mortals will not read aright,
Nor know that, from eachtbarren height,
Unquenched the living waters flow
Which verdure bring to fields below."

Beatrix L. Tollemache
⁠Hospice Bernina.Spectator.

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TO HERMIONE.

What shall I liken unto thee?
⁠A lily bright,
Whose virgin purity and grace
Fulfils the soul, as doth thy face,
⁠With all delight.

What shall I liken unto thee?
⁠A blushing rose,
Which, redolent of fragrance rare,
Half opened to the summer air,
⁠All sweetness grows.

What shall I liken unto thee?
⁠Some glorious star,
Which, hung aloft at eventide,
Sheds its mild radiance every side,
⁠Both near and far.

No! such comparison is vain.
⁠For these all three,
Lily, and star,- and rose so fair,
In radiance, grace, and sweetness rare
⁠Must yield to thee.

Macmillan's Magazine.

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SIESTA.

FROM RUCKERT'S SICILIANEN.

I, Zephyr in the sultry noontide sighing
Woo thee to slumber, ere I sink to sleep:
The naiads heavy-eyed are languid lying;
Through burning sands their lingering runnels creep.
Drowsed by the shrill cicala's weary crying,
The dryads dream, in hazel shadows deep.
Canst thou the sun-god's blighting beam withstand?
Sleep! the nymphs all are sleeping through the land.

Temple Bar..W. D. S.