To a Greek Girl

Hidden papers in the dusty garret,
Where her few and secret poems lie,--
Thither flies her heart to join her treasure,
While she serves, with absent-musing eye,
Mighty tankards

Foaming cider in the glasses high.

"Would she mingle with her young companions!"

Vainly do her aunts and uncles say; Ever, from the village sports and dances, Early missed, Emilia slips away.

Whither vanished?

With what unimagined mates to play?

Did they seek her, wandering by the water,
They should find her comrades shy and strange:
Queens and princesses, and saints and fairies,
Dimly moving in a cloud of change:-

Desdemona;

Mariana of the Moated Grange.

Up this valley to the fair and market

When young farmers from the southward ride,
Oft they linger at a sound of chanting

In the meadows by the turnpike side;
Long they listen,

Deep in fancies of a fairy bride.

Sarah N. Cleghorn [1876–

TO A GREEK GIRL

WITH breath of thyme and bees that hum,
Across the years you seem to come,—
Across the years with nymph-like head,
And wind-blown brows unfilleted;
A girlish shape that slips the bud
In lines of unspoiled symmetry;
A girlish shape that stirs the blood
With pulse of Spring, Autonoë!

347

Where'er you pass,-where'er you go,
I hear the pebbly rillet flow;
Where'er you go,—where'er you pass,
There comes a gladness on the grass;
You bring blithe airs where'er you tread,—
Blithe airs that blow from down and sea;
You wake in me a Pan not dead,—

Not wholly dead!-Autonoë!

How sweet with you on some green sod
To wreathe the rustic garden-god;
How sweet beneath the chestnut's shade
With you to weave a basket-braid;
To watch across the stricken chords
Your rosy-twinkling fingers flee;
To woo you in soft woodland words,
With woodland pipe, Autonoë!

In vain,-in vain! The years divide:
Where Thamis rolls a murky tide,
I sit and fill my painful reams,
And see you only in my dreams;-
A vision, like Alcestis, brought

From under-lands of Memory,—
A dream of Form in days of Thought,-
A dream,-a dream, Autonoë!

Austin Dobson (1840

"CHAMBER SCENE”

AN EXQUISITE PICTURE IN THE STUDIO OF A YOUNG

ARTIST AT ROME

SHE rose from her untroubled sleep,

And put away her soft brown hair,
And, in a tone as low and deep

As love's first whisper, breathed a prayer—
Her snow-white hands together pressed,

Her blue eyes sheltered in the lid,

The folded linen on her breast,

Just swelling with the charms it hid;

A Life-Lesson

-And from her long and flowing dress

Escaped a bare and slender foot,

Whose shape upon the earth did press

Like a new snow-flake, white and "mute"; | And there, from slumber pure and warm,

Like a young spirit fresh from heaven,
She bowed her slight and graceful form,
And humbly prayed to be forgiven.

Oh God! if souls unsoiled as these
Need daily mercy from Thy throne;
If she upon her bended knees,

Our loveliest and our purest one,-
She, with a face so clear and bright,
We deem her some stray child of light;-
If she, with those soft eyes in tears,

Day after day in her first years,

Must kneel and pray for grace from Thee,
What far, far deeper need have we!
How hardly, if she win not heaven,

Will our wild errors be forgiven!

349

Nathaniel Parker Willis [1806-1867]

"AH, BE NOT FALSE"

Ан, be not false, sweet Splendor!
Be true, be good;

Be wise as thou art tender;

Be all that Beauty should.

Not lightly be thy citadel subdued;

Not ignobly, not untimely,

Take praise in solemn mood;

Take love sublimely.

Richard Watson Gilder [1844-1909]

A LIFE-LESSON

THERE! little girl, don't cry!

They have broken your doll, I know;

And your tea-set blue,

And your play-house, too,

Are things of the long ago;

But childish troubles will soon pass by.-
There! little girl, don't cry!

There! little girl, don't cry!

They have broken your slate, I know;
And the glad, wild ways

Of your school-girl days
Are things of the long ago;

But life and love will soon come by.—
There! little girl, don't cry!

There! little girl, don't cry!

They have broken your heart, I know;

And the rainbow gleams
Of your youthful dreams

Are things of the long ago;

But Heaven holds all for which you sigh.—

There! little girl, don't cry!

James Whitcomb Riley (1852-1916]

THE MAN

THE BREAKING

THE LORD GOD SPEAKS TO A YOUTH

BEND now thy body to the common weight:

(But oh, that vine-clad head, those limbs of morn! Those proud young shoulders, I myself made straight! How shall ye wear the yoke that must be worn?)

Look thou, my son, what wisdom comes to thee:
(But oh, that singing mouth, those radiant eyes!
Those dancing feet-that I myself made free!

How shall I sadden them to make them wise?)

Nay, then, thou shalt! Resist not-have a care!
(Yea, I must work my plans who sovereign sit;
Yet do not tremble so! I cannot bear-

Though I am God-to see thee so submit!)
Margaret Steele Anderson [18

THE FLIGHT OF YOUTH

THERE are gains for all our losses,
There are balms for all our pain:
But when youth, the dream, departs,
It takes something from our hearts,
And it never comes again.

We are stronger, and are better,

Under manhood's sterner reign:
Still we feel that something sweet
Followed youth, with flying feet,
And will never come again.'