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THE SWEDISH MINER.
'And art thou lying here!
Beautiful as thou wast, when side by side,
Our wayward feet ranged all the woodlands wide, In childhood's thoughtless glee!
Yes! my beloved, though gone hath many a year, I well remember thee!
'Here is the same white brow
That won my simple heart, when life's green path Was all a paradise; methinks it hath
Its same calm beauty yet,
That cheek! though death hath somewhat changed it now
I never might forget!
"Thou wearest the red rose
I gave thee, on that gentle summer's eve,
Alas! I little dreamed at that day's mellow close,
'After the rapid flight
Of fifty years, 't is pleasant, in old age
The awful tomb! must shut thee from my sight,
THE SHIP IS READY.
THE SHIP IS READY.
BY HANNAH F. GOULD.
FARE thee well! the ship is ready,
When from land and home receding,
When the lonely night-watch keeping
Mindful of the friends behind thee!
Turned to those, who wake for thee!
When, with slow and gentle motion,
When the tempest hovers o'er thee.
TO HER WHO CAN UNDERSTAND THEM.
BY F. G. HALLECK.
THE song that o'er me hovered
In summer's hour, in summer's hour,
To day with joy has covered
My winter bower, my winter bower. Blest be the lips that breathe it,
As mine have been, as mine have been,
When pressed, in dreams, beneath it,
Its hope may be, its hope may be,
To beat for me, to beat for me.
Is she a Spirit, given
One hour to earth, one hour to earth, To bring me dreams from heaven,
Her place of birth, her place of birth? Or minstrel maiden, hidden
Like cloistered nun, like cloistered nun, A bud, a flower, forbidden
To air and sun, to air and sun?
For had I power to summon
With harp divine, with harp divine,
The Angel, or the Woman,
The last were mine, the last were mine.
If earth-born Beauty's fingers
Awaked the lay, awaked the lay,
Whose echoed music lingers
Around my way, around my way;
Where smiles the hearth she blesses
With voice and eye, with voice and eye? Where binds the Night her tresses,
When sleep is nigh, when sleep is nigh? Is fashion's bleak cold mountain
Her bosom's throne, her bosom's throne?
Or love's green vale and fountain,
Why ask? why seek a treasure,
Like her I sing, like her I sing? Her name nor pain nor pleasure
To me should bring, to me should bring. Love must not grieve or gladden
My thoughts of snow, my thoughts of snow, Nor woman soothe or sadden
My path below, my path below.
Before a worldlier altar
I've knelt too long, I've knelt too long,
And if my footsteps falter,
'Tis but in song, 't is but in song.
Nor would I break the vision
Young fancies frame, young fancies frame,
That lights with stars elysian,
A poet's name, a poet's name;
For she, whose gentle spirit
Such dreams sublime, such dreams sublime,
Gives hues they do not merit
To sons of rhyme, to sons of rhyme.
But place the proudest near her,
Whate'er his pen, whate'er his pen,
She'll say, (be mute who hear her,)
Yet though unseen, unseeing,
We meet and part, we meet and part,