EDWIN ARNOLD. SHE AND HE. But he who loved her too well to dread "SHE is dead!" they said to him. The sweet, the stately, the beautiful "Come away; Kiss her! and leave her!-thy love is clay!" They smoothed her tresses of dark brown hair; On her forehead of marble they laid it fair: Over her eyes, which gazed too much, They drew the lids with a gentle touch; With a tender touch they closed up well The sweet thin lips that had secrets to tell; About her brows, and her dear, pale face They tied her veil and her marriagelace; dead, He lit his lamp, and took the key, And turn'd it! Alone again - he and she! He and she; but she would not speak, Though he kiss'd, in the old place, the quiet cheek; He and she; yet she would not smile, Though he call'd her the name that was fondest erewhile. He and she; and she did not move To any one passionate whisper of love! Then he said, "Cold lips! and breast without breath! Is there no voice?-no language of death "Dumb to the ear and still to the sense, And drew on her white feet her But to heart and to soul distinct, white silk shoes;Which were the whiter no eye could choose! Who will believe that he heard her say, "I be without body and breathe without breath. should laugh for joy if you did not cry; Oh, listen! Love lasts!- Love never will die. "I am only your Angel who was your Bride; And I know, that though dead, I have never died." AFTER DEATH IN ARABIA. Faithful friends! It lies, I know, Sweet friends! What the women lave Of the falcon, not the bars With the soft rich voice, in the dear Which kept him from these splendid old way: "The utmost wonder is this, I hear, And see you, and love you, and kiss you, Dear; "I can speak, now you listen with soul alone; If your soul could see, it would all be shown. stars. Loving friends! Be wise and dry 'Tis an earthen jar, whose lid Allah glorious! Allah good! Lives and loves you; lost, 'tis true, In enlarging paradise, Lives a life that never dies. Farewell, friends! Yet not farewell; Be ye certain all seems love, Thou love divine! Thou love alway! He that died at Azan gave FLORENCE Nightingale. IF on this verse of mine Think not that for a rhyme, I name thy name,-true victor in this strife! But let it serve to say That, when we kneel to pray, Prayers rise for thee thine ear shall never know; And that thy gallant deed, For God, and for our need, Is in all hearts, as deep as love can go. GEORGE ARNOLD. IN THE DARK. [The author's last poem, written a few days before his death.] ALL moveless stand the ancient cedar-trees Let those who wish them toil for gold and praise; To me the summer-day brings more of pleasure. Along the drifted sand-hills where So, here upon the grass, I lie at ease, While solemn voices from the Past are calling, Mingled with rustling whispers in the trees, And pleasant sounds of water idly falling. There was a time when I had higher aims Than thus to lie among the flowers and listen To listening birds, or watch the sunset's flames On the broad river's surface glow and glisten. There was a time, perhaps, when I had thought To make a name, a home, a bright existence: But time has shown me that my dreams are naught Save a mirage that vanished with the distance. Well, it is gone: I care no longer now For fame, for fortune, or for empty praises; Rather than wear a crown upon my brow, I'd lie forever here among the daisies. So you, who wish for fame, good friend, pass by; With you I surely cannot think to quarrel: Give me peace, rest, this bank whereon I lie, And spare me both the labor and the laurel! And, Patience! in another life, we say. The world shall be thrust down, and we up-borne. And will not, then, the immortal armies scorn No, no! the energy of life may be Kept on after the grave, but not begun; And he who flagg'd not in the earthly strife, From strength to strength advancing His soul well-knit, and all his battles only he, won, Mounts, and that hardly, to eternal life. EAST LONDON. 'Twas August, and the fierce sun Smote on the squalid streets of Beth- In Spitalfields, look'd thrice dispirited. I met a preacher there I knew, and said: "Ill and o'erwork'd, how fare you in this scene?”. "Bravely!" said he; "for I of late Much cheer'd with thoughts of O human soul! as long as thou canst The world's poor, routed leavings? To cheer thee, and to right thee if or will they, thou roam Who fail'd under the heat of this Not with lost toil thou laborest through the night! life's day, Support the fervors of the heavenly Thou mak'st the heaven thou hop'st indeed thy home. morn? |