THE UNKNOWN WAY. Along those pleasant windings Where the shade is cool and the dew of night Path of the flowery woodland! Oh whither dost thou lead, Wandering by grassy orchard-grounds, Or by the open mead? Goest thou by nestling cottage? Where the broad elm droops, a leafy dome, By steeps where children gather Or haply dost thou linger On barren plains and bare, Or clamber the bald mountain-side Where they who journey upward Walk in a weary track, And oft upon the shady vale With longing eyes look back? I hear a solemn murmur, I know the voice of the mighty Sea, Dost thou, oh path of the woodland ! 213 ཚ ཡི་ ཡི "OH MOTHER OF A MIGHTY RACE." Oн mother of a mighty race, Yet lovely in thy youthful grace! And taunts of scorn they join thy name. For on thy cheeks the glow is spread Is bright as thine own sunny sky. Ay, let them rail—those haughty ones, Its life between thee and the foe. They know not, in their hate and pride, Spring, like thine oaks, by hill and glen ; What cordial welcomes greet the guest And where the ocean border foams. THE LAND OF DREAMS. There's freedom at thy gates and rest For the starved laborer toil and bread. Stops and calls back his baffled hounds. Oh, fair young mother! on thy brow Drop strength and riches at thy feet. Thine eye, with every coming hour, Would brand thy name with words of scorn, Before thine eye, Upon their lips the taunt shall die. THE LAND OF DREAMS. A MIGHTY realm is the Land of Dreams, But over its shadowy border flow Sweet rays from the world of endless morn, And the nearer mountains catch the glow, And flowers in the nearer fields are born. The souls of the happy dead repair, From their bowers of light, to that bordering land, And walk in the fainter glory there, With the souls of the living hand in hand. One calm sweet smile, in that shadowy sphere, From eyes that open on earth no moreOne warning word from a voice once dearHow they rise in the memory o'er and o'er! Far off from those hills that shine with day, There lie the chambers of guilty delight, Dear maid, in thy girlhood's opening flower, Scarce weaned from the love of childish play! The tears on whose cheeks are but the shower That freshens the blooms of early May! Thine eyes are closed, and over thy brow Light-hearted maiden, oh, heed thy feet! So shalt thou come from the Land of Dreams, THE BURIAL OF LOVE. 217 THE BURIAL OF LOVE. Two dark-eyed maids, at shut of day, And one was pale and both were fair. Bring flowers, they sang, bring flowers unblown. Close softly, fondly, while ye weep, And make his grave where violets hide, Place near him, as ye lay him low, His waggish eyes in sport he wound. But we shall mourn him long, and miss His ready smile, his ready kiss, The patter of his little feet, Sweet frowns and stammered phrases sweet; And graver looks, serene and high, |