But when we turn'd her sweet unlearned eye On our own isle, she raised a joyous cry, "Oh! yes, I see it, Letty's home is there!" And while she hid all England with a kiss, Bright over Europe fell her golden hair. 1880. 2-3 MARY-A REMINISCENCE I SHE died in June, while yet the woodbine sprays gorge, By which, erewhile, on each less genial morn, week. II AND when I seek the chamber where she dwelt, Near one loved chair a well-worn spot I see, Worn by the shifting of a feeble knee While the poor head bow'd lowly-it would melt The worldling's heart with instant sympathy: The match-box and the manual, lying there, Those sad sweet signs of wakefulness and prayer, Are darling tokens of the Past to me: At midnight, which aroused her slumbering bird: 4 HER FIRST-BORN it was her first sweet child, her heart's delight: She could not dream her little child would die: " 5 THE LATTICE AT SUNRISE As on my bed at dawn I mus'd and pray'd, A sunny phantom interlaced with shade; To bid us feel and see! we are not free To say we see not, for the glory comes His lustre pierceth through the midnight And, at prime hour, behold! He follows me With golden shadows to my secret rooms.” 1864. 6. THE HARVEST MOON How peacefully the broad and golden moon That they who own the land for many a mile, May bless her beams, and they who take the boon Of scatter'd ears; oh! beautiful! how soon The dusk is turn'd to silver without soil, Which makes the fair sheaves fairer than at noon, And guides the gleaner to his slender spoil; So, to our souls, the Lord of love and might Sends harvest-hours, when daylight disappears; When age and sorrow, like a coming night, Darken our field of work with doubts and fears, He times the presence of His heavenly light 1873. Charles Tennyson Turner. THE NEW WORLD THE night that has no star lit up by God, The day that round men shines who still are blind, The earth their grave-turned feet for ages trod And sea swept over by His mighty wind,All these have passed away, the melting dream That flitted o'er the sleeper's half-shut eye, When touched by morning's golden-darting beam; And he beholds around the earth and sky That ever real stands, the rolling shores And heaving billows of the boundless main, That show, though time is past, no trace of years. And earth restored he sees as his again, that stand, Their strong foundations laid by God's right hand. 1839. Jones Very |