Ballads of Beauty
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"IF EYES WERE MADE FOR SEEING,
THEN BEAUTY IS ITS OWN EXCUSE FOR BEING."
Emerson.Beauty
Beauty givesThe features perfectness, and to the formIts delicate proportions: she may stainThe eye with a celestial blue, the cheekWith carmine of the sunset; she may breatheGrace into every motion, like the playOf the least visible tissue of a cloud;She may give all that's rich – her ownBright cestus – and one glance of Intellect,Like stronger magic, will outshine it all.Waiting in the Twilight
Slowly from the western hill-sidesFades the sunset's ruddy light,While the birds amid the tree-topsSoftly chirp their sweet "Good-night."Where the elm trees' spreading branchesHide the streamlets with their shades,Stands the fair-faced, blue-eyed Dolly,Flower of all the village maids, —Looking, in the growing twilight,Towards the grassy fields ahead,Listening still, with eye expectant,For the ever-welcome tread.From across the verdant meadowComes a whistle, loud and shrill,Sounding through the evening stillness,Seemeth but the whip-poor-will.But the fair face glows still brighter,And the eyes more eager grow,As the notes come near and nearer,Louder than the streamlet's flow.Soon she hears the well-known musicOf his voice, borne on the air:"Don't you hear me coming, Dolly?Dolly, dear, I'll soon be there."And the one she's long been waiting,Hat upraised, now comes in sight,Hastening towards the blue-eyed maiden,Waiting in the soft twilight.Happy hearts, so young and trusting,May no frost e'er blight your love,But may blessings all unnumberedFall upon you from above!Life Songs
A brook flashed from a rugged height,Merrily, merrily glancing;The songs of the summer lightKept time to the tune of its dancing.Fond eyes looked on its dewy sheen,Reading fate in its waters;"Darling, the song of the brook is for you,Fairest of earth's dear daughters."Bright eyes looked on its dewy sheen,And the songs of their lives rang clearly, —"The world is fair! the world is fair!""And I love, I love you dearly."Autumn leaves, like a fairy fleet,Swept down towards the river;The false wind moaned through the dreary sleet,"The flowers are dead forever!"Sad eyes looked down on the shadowed stream,Reading fate in its measure:"For me your song, for my withered life,Pain in the mask of pleasure."Sad eyes looked on the shadowed stream,And the songs of their lives rang clearly, —"The world is sad! the world is sad!""Oh! I loved, I loved him dearly."A flush, a glow on the winter skies,Earth smiles in her happy dreaming;Whispers the wind, "Arise! arise!The dawn of spring is beaming."Calm eyes look down on the sunny brook,With a smile that has conquered sadness —"Your song is for me in this sweet spring-time,In heaven is perfect gladness."Calm eyes look on its dewy sheen,And the songs of their lives ring gayly, —"The spring is here! the spring is here!""I find strength for my burden daily."The Welcome
ICome in the evening or come in the morning,Come when you're looked for or come without warning,Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you,And the oftener you come here the more I'll adore you!Light is my heart since the day we were plighted,Red is my cheek that they told me was blighted;The green of the trees looks far greener than ever,And the linnets are singing, "True lovers don't sever!"III'll pull you sweet flowers, to wear if you choose them,Or, after you've kissed them, they'll lie on my bosom;I'll fetch from the mountain its breeze to inspire you;I'll fetch from my fancy a tale that won't tire you.Oh! your step's like the rain to the summer-vexed farmer,Or sabre and shield to a knight without armor.I'll sing you sweet songs till the stars rise above me,Then, wandering, I'll wish you in silence to love me.IIIWe'll look through the trees at the cliff and the eyrie;We'll tread round the rath on the track of the fairy;We'll look on the stars, and we'll list to the river,Till you ask of your darling what gift you can give her.Oh! she'll whisper you, – "Love, as unchangeably beaming,And trust, when in secret, most tunefully streaming,Till the starlight of heaven above us shall quiver,As our souls flow in one down eternity's river."IVSo come in the evening or come in the morning,Come when you're looked for or come without warning,Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you,And the oftener you come here the more I'll adore you!Light is my heart since the day we were plighted,Red is my cheek that they told me was blighted;The green of the trees looks far greener than ever,And the linnets are singing, "True lovers don't sever!"Love at First Sight
Into my heart a silent lookFlashed from thy careless eyes;And what before was shadow, tookThe light of summer skies.The first-born Love was in that look;The Venus rose from out the deepOf those inspiring eyes.My life, like some lone, solemn spotA spirit passes o'er,Grew instinct with a glory notIn earth or heaven before.Sweet trouble stirred the haunted spot,And shook the leaves of every thoughtThy presence wandered o'er!My being yearned, and crept to thine,As if in times of yoreThy soul had been a part of mine,Which claimed it back once more —Thy very self no longer thine,But merged in that delicious lifeWhich made us ONE of yore!There bloomed beside thee forms as fair,There murmured tones as sweet;But round thee breathed the enchanted air'Twas life and death to meet.And henceforth thou alone wert fair,And though the stars had sung for joy,Thy whisper only sweet!O Fairest of the Rural Maids
O fairest of the rural maids!Thy birth was in the forest shades;Green boughs, and glimpses of the sky,Were all that met thine infant eye.Thy sports, thy wanderings, when a child,Were ever in the sylvan wild;And all the beauty of the placeIs in thy heart and on thy face.The twilight of the trees and rocksIs in the light shade of thy locks;Thy step is as the wind, that weavesIts playful way among the leaves.Thine eyes are springs, in whose sereneAnd silent waters heaven is seen;Their lashes are the herbs that lookOn their young figures in the brook.The forest depths, by foot unpressed,Are not more sinless than thy breast;The holy peace that fills the airOf those calm solitudes, is there.Louise on the Doorstep
Half-past three in the morning!And no one in the streetBut me, on the sheltering doorstepResting my weary feet,Watching the rain-drops patterAnd dance where the puddles run,As bright in the flaring gas-lightAs dew-drops in the sun.There's a light upon the pavement,It shines like a magic glass,And there are faces in itThat look at me and pass.Faces – ah! well rememberedIn the happy Long Ago,When my garb was white as lilies,And my thoughts as pure as snow.Faces! ah, yes! I see them —One, two, and three – and four —That come in the gust of tempests,And go on the winds that bore.Changeful and evanescent,They shine mid storm and rain,Till the terror of their beautyLies deep upon my brain.One of them frowns; I know him,With his thin, long, snow-white hair, —Cursing his wretched daughterThat drove him to despair.And the other, with wakening pityIn her large, tear-streaming eyes,Seems as she yearned towards me,And whispered "Paradise."They pass, – they melt in the ripples,And I shut mine eyes, that burn,To escape another visionThat follows where'er I turn —The face of a false deceiverThat lives and lies; ah, me!Though I see it in the pavement,Mocking my misery!They are gone, all three! – quite vanished!Let nothing call them back!For I've had enough of phantoms,And my heart is on the rack.God help me in my sorrow!But there, – in the wet, cold stone,Smiling in heavenly beauty,I see my lost, mine own!There, on the glimmering pavement,With eyes as blue as morn,Floats by the fair-haired darlingToo soon from my bosom torn.She clasps her tiny fingers,She calls me sweet and mild,And says that my God forgives meFor the sake of my little child.I will go to her grave to-morrow,And pray that I may die;And I hope that my God will take meEre the days of my youth go by.For I am old in anguish,And long to be at rest,With my little babe beside me,And the daisies on my breast.Our Skater Belle
Along the frozen lake she comesIn linking crescents, light and fleet;The ice-imprisoned Undine humsA welcome to her little feet.I see the jaunty hat, the plumeSwerve bird-like in the joyous gale, —The cheeks lit up to burning bloom,The young eyes sparkling through the veil.The quick breath parts her laughing lips,The white neck shines through tossing curls;Her vesture gently sways and dips,As on she speeds in shell-like whorls.Men stop and smile to see her go;They gaze, they smile in pleased surprise;They ask her name; they long to showSome silent friendship in their eyes.She glances not; she passes on;Her steely footfall quicker rings;She guesses not the benisonWhich follows her on noiseless wings.Smooth be her ways, secure her tread,Along the devious lines of life,From grace to grace successive led, —A noble maiden, nobler wife!Augusta
"Handsome and haughty!" a comment that cameFrom lips which were never accustomed to malice:A girl with a presence superb as her name,And charmingly fitted for love – in a palace!And oft I have wished – for in musing aloneOne's fancy is apt to be very erratic —That the lady might wear – No! I never will ownA thought so decidedly undemocratic!But if 'twere a coronet– this, I'll aver,No duchess on earth could more gracefully wear it;And even a democrat – thinking of her—Might surely be pardoned for wishing to share it!Lord Ullin's Daughter
A chieftain to the Highlands bound,Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry!And I'll give thee a silver poundTo row us o'er the ferry.""Now who be ye would cross Lochgyle,This dark and stormy water?""Oh, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,And this Lord Ullin's daughter."And fast before her father's menThree days we've fled together;For should he find us in the glen,My blood would stain the heather."His horsemen hard behind us ride;Should they our steps discover,Then who will cheer my bonny brideWhen they have slain her lover?"Out spoke the hardy Highland wight,"I'll go, my chief, – I'm ready;It is not for your silver bright,But for your winsome lady."And by my word! the bonny birdIn danger shall not tarry;So though the waves are raging white,I'll row you o'er the ferry."By this the storm grew loud apace,The water-wraith was shrieking;And in the scowl of heaven each faceGrew dark as they were speaking.But still, as wilder blew the wind,And as the night grew drearer,Adown the glen rode arméd men,Their trampling sounded nearer."Oh, haste thee, haste!" the lady cries,"Though tempests round us gather;I'll meet the raging of the skies,But not an angry father."The boat has left a stormy land,A stormy sea before her,When, oh! too strong for human handThe tempest gathered o'er her.And still they rowed amidst the roarOf waters fast prevailing;Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore:His wrath was changed to wailing.For sore dismayed, through storm and shade,His child he did discover;One lovely hand she stretched for aid,And one was round her lover."Come back! come back!" he cried, in grief,"Across this stormy water,And I'll forgive your Highland chief,My daughter! O my daughter!"'Twas vain; the loud waves lashed the shore,Return or aid preventing;The waters wild went o'er his child,And he was left lamenting.Winter Song
Wintry winds are calling,Whereso'er I go;Dismally is falling,The melancholy snow!Birds from off the bough,Long have taken flight;There is no singing now,And scant sunlight.I weary for the old days,When all the world looked gay;These are the cold days, —Summer hath fled away!Love and peace and gladness,Stayed a little space;Solitude and sadnessMeet me in their place.Love passed idly by,Soon was gladness flown;Peace was last to fly, —I am alone!And I weary for the old days,And those who would not stay;These are the cold days, —Summer hath fled away!Heart! hast thou a reasonThus to throb and yearnIn the wintry season?Why should he returnIn the wintry hours?'Tis too late to gainOne who mid the flowersWould not remain.And I weary for the old days,And one who would not stay;These are the cold days, —Summer hath fled away!The Miller's Daughter
It is the miller's daughter,And she is grown so dear, so dear,That I would be the jewelThat trembles at her ear;For, hid in ringlets day and night,I'd touch her neck so warm and white.And I would be the girdleAbout her dainty, dainty waist,And her heart would beat against meIn sorrow and in rest;And I should know if it beat right,I'd clasp it round so close and tight.And I would be the necklace,And all day long to fall and riseUpon her balmy bosomWith her laughter or her sighs;And I would lie so light, so light,I scarce should be unclasped at night.Oh, were my Love a Country Lass
Oh, were my love a country lass,That I might see her every day;And sit with her on hedge-row grassBeneath a bough of May;And find her cattle when astray,Or help to drive them to the field,And linger on our homeward way,And woo her lips to yieldA twilight kiss before we parted,Full of love, yet easy-hearted!Oh, were my love a cottage maid,To spin through many a winter night,Where ingle-corner lends its shadeFrom fir-wood blazing bright.Beside her wheel what dear delightTo watch the blushes go and come,With tender words that took no frightBeneath the friendly hum;Or rising smile, or tear-drop swelling,At a fireside legend's telling!Oh, were my love a peasant girl,That never saw the wicked town;Was never dight with silk or pearl,But graced a homely gown.How less than weak were fashion's frownTo vex our unambitious lot!How rich were love and peace to crownOur green secluded cot,Where age would come serene and shining,Like an autumn day's declining!The Siesta
(FROM THE SPANISH.)Airs! that wander and murmur round,Bearing delight where'er ye blow,Make in the elms a lulling sound,While my lady sleeps in the shade below.Lighten and lengthen her noonday rest,Till the heat of the noonday sun is o'er;Sweet be her slumbers, – though in my breastThe pain she has waked may slumber no more.Breathing soft from the blue profound,Bearing delight where'er ye blow,Make in the elms a lulling sound,While my lady sleeps in the shade below.Airs! that over the bending boughs,And under the shade of pendent leaves,Murmur soft, like my timid vows,Or the secret sighs my bosom heaves, —Gently sweeping the grassy ground,Bearing delight where'er ye blow,Make in the elms a lulling sound,While my lady sleeps in the shade below.The Queen's Ride
'Tis that fair time of year,Lady mine!When stately GuinevereIn her sea-green robe and hood,Went a-riding through the wood,Lady mine!And as the Queen did ride,Lady mine!Sir Launcelot at her sideLaughed and chatted, bending over,Half her friend and all her lover,Lady mine!And as they rode along,Lady mine!The throstle gave them song,And the buds peeped through the grassTo see youth and beauty pass,Lady mine!And on, through deathless time,Lady mine!These lovers in their prime(Two fairy ghosts together!)Ride, with sea-green robe and feather,Lady mine!And so we two will ride,Lady mine!At your pleasure, side by side,Laugh and chat, – I bending over,Half your friend and all your lover,Lady mine!But if you like not this,Lady mine!And take my love amiss,Then I'll ride unto the end,Half your lover, all your friend,Lady mine!So come which way you will,Lady mine!Vale, upland, plain, and hillWait your coming. For one dayLoose the bridle, and away!Lady mine!Mary Morison
O Mary, at thy window be —It is the wished, the trysted hour!Those smiles and glances let me seeThat make the miser's treasure poor.How blithely wad I bide the stoure,A weary slave frae sun to sun,Could I the rich reward secure,Of lovely Mary Morison!Yestreen, when to the trembling stringThe dance gaed through the lighted ha',To thee my fancy took its wing, —I sat, but neither heard nor saw,Though this was fair, and that was braw,And you the toast of a' the town,I sighed, and said, amang them a',Ye are na Mary Morison!O Mary, canst thou wreck his peaceWha for thy sake wad gladly die?Or canst thou break that heart of his,Whase only faut is loving thee?If love for love thou wilt na gie,At least be pity to me shown:A thought ungentle canna beThe thought of Mary Morison.Margaret and Dora
Margaret's beauteous, – Grecian artsNe'er drew form completer;Yet why, in my heart of hearts,Hold I Dora's sweeter?Dora's eyes of heavenly bluePass all painting's reach, —Ringdoves' notes are discord toThe music of her speech.Artists! Margaret's smile receive,And on canvas show it;But for perfect worship, leaveDora to her poet.Out in the Cold
Under a bough without berries or leaves,Where the keen winter's slave silver webs weaves,Where the bleak, bitter blast swoops o'er the hill,Where the swift-flying flake never is still,Maidens three,Here are we,Surely not old.Pity us,Succor us,Out in the cold!New Year's morn tempted us out in the snow,Rudely the blast came down, making cheeks glow,Snatching at wrap and veil, seeking to hurlDead leaf and flake at us, tangled each curl.CompanyMaidens threeAre not, 'tis told;'Tis not fair;We despair,Out in the cold.Shelter we seek in vain here mid the storm,Waiting most patiently some welcome warm;'Tis but a secret to you told apart —The shelter that we would have lies in some heart.Sad our lot,Blame us not,Think us not bold;Even EveSure would grieve,Left in the cold.Who has not told of the tendril-tipped vine,Breathed of the blossoms in poetry's line,Vowed that the former needs where it may twine,And the latter a stay where its petals may shine?Yet aloneHere we moanTroubles untold;Blossoms pale,Vine a-trail,Out in the cold.But hark! there are steps coming over the snow,To set our hearts beating and make our cheeks glow;And yet how a-tremble each one falls again,As longing hearts ponder on flight by the lane!Yet elate,'Tis too late;Eager and boldThree appear —Nay, are here,Out in the cold.The Annoyer
Love knoweth every form of air,And every shape of earth,And comes, unbidden, everywhere,Like thought's mysterious birth.The moonlit sea and the sunset skyAre written with Love's words,And you hear his voice unceasingly,Like song, in the time of birds.He peeps into the warrior's heart,From the tip of a stooping plume,And the serried spears, and the many men,May not deny him room.He'll come to his tent in the weary night,And be busy in his dream,And he'll float to his eye in morning light,Like a fay on a silver beam.He hears the sound of the hunter's gun,And rides on the echo back,And sighs in his ear like a stirring leafAnd flits in his woodland track.The shade of the wood and the sheen of the river,The cloud and the open sky, —He will haunt them all with his subtle quiver,Like the light of your very eye.He blurs the print of the scholar's book,And intrudes in the maiden's prayer,And profanes the cell of the holy manIn the shape of a lady fair.In the darkest night and the bright daylight,In earth, and sea, and sky,In every home of human thought,Will Love be lurking nigh.Desolate
The day goes down red, darkling,The moaning waves dash out the light,And there is not a star of hope sparklingOn the threshold of my night.Wild winds of Autumn go wailingUp the valley and over the hill,Like yearning ghosts round the world sailing,In search of the old love still.A fathomless sea is rollingO'er the wreck of the bravest bark;And my pain-muffled heart is tollingIts dumb peal down in the dark.The waves of a mighty sorrowHave whelméd the pearl of my life;And there cometh to me no morrowShall solace this desolate strife.Gone are the last faint flashes,Set is the sun of my years;And over a few poor ashesI sit in my darkness and tears.Linger, O Gentle Time
Linger, O gentle Time,Linger, O radiant grace of bright to-day!Let not the hours' chimeCall thee away,But linger near me still with fond delay.Linger, for thou art mine!What dearer treasures can the Future hold?What sweeter flowers than thineCan she unfold?What secret tell my heart thou hast not told?Oh, linger in thy flight!For shadows gather round, and should we part,A dreary, stirless nightMay fill my heart.Then pause and linger yet ere thou depart.Linger, I ask no more.Thou art enough forever – thou alone.What Future can restoreWhen thou art flown,All that I hold for thee and call my own?Bonnie Bessie
I love Bessie and she loves me —Bonnie Bessie, who lives by the sea,Sweet and lovely as lass can be;White and rosy, with eyes of blue,Luminous eyes, like globes of dew, —You see the morning firmament through!Light and grace in her motion free,Sweetest lady of all I see,For I love Bessie and she loves me!Some have houses, and some have stocks,And some have treasure in veinéd rocks,And some heap gold in an iron box;Cattle and horses and sheep have some;For another his great ships go and come,And a hundred mills for his brother hum;But I, who have only an eye to seeAnd a heart to bless her, can happier be,For I love Bessie and she loves me!One flaunts a title before his name,And one behind his, – both for the same, —Baggage checked to the Station of Fame!Office and honors, ribbons and fees,Some for those, and others for these,Wrestle and run in the mire to their knees;But I, with only a name that sheMakes musical, can happier be,For I love Bessie and she loves me!My lady is eight years old to-day,A stave of music that danced awayIn a fairy's form, – a morning rayInvolved in vapors of misty pearl,That flushed and throbbed in a dainty whirl,Till it stepped to earth a living girl,With the sun-steeped mist yet rippling free,For her golden hair! my bliss to be,For I love Bessie and she loves me!I see by the glass that Time has tossedOver my locks his powdery frost;But whoot, old man, your labor is lost!For every day you lessen the wayBetween me and my delicate fay,My bonny, bounding Bessie Grey;Years may whiten what white may be,But the heart she lightens is young as she,For I love Bessie and she loves me!The Confidante
IA letter, Lucy? for me to read?Ah, tell-tale blushes, what secret now?I am but teasing. There, never heed,Nor blur with furrows that little brow.IIYes, as I thought. 'Tis the old, old tale:He loves you; dreams of you night and day;With hope he brightens, with dread turns pale, —Truths, dear sister, or babblings gray.IIILove lives forever, if heart-born, real;But fades like the roses I've now just clipped,When told by one who your peace would steal,Then flit to some blossom as honey-lipped.IVTo you each word here is truth's own mint:To me, once cheated, there's room for doubt;You, sister, could him give your love sans stint —What, tears and trembling? a dawning pout?VYes, as I thought. 'Tis the old, old tale:He loves you; dreams of you night and day;With hope he brightens, with dread turns pale, —Truths, dear sister, or babblings gray.VIWell, darling, believe then, and cynic thoughtShall fade away in your love's sweet sun.He is not worldly nor fashion-taught;I would not darken new light begun.VIIHis words are manly; an honest ringSounds in each sentence. Ah! Lucy, liveLong in the love that can never wing,Whilst I – well, yes – I have yet to give.Somebody's Waiting for Somebody
Rainy and rough sets the day, —There's a heart beating for somebody;I must be up and away, —Somebody's anxious for somebody.Thrice hath she been to the gate,Thrice hath she listened for somebody.Midst the night, stormy and late,Somebody's waiting for somebody.There'll be a comforting fire,There'll be a welcome for somebody;One, in her neatest attire,Will look at the table for somebody.Though the stars fled from the west,There is a star yet for somebody,Lighting the home he loves best,Warming the bosom of somebody.There'll be a coat o'er the chair,There will be slippers for somebody;There'll be a wife's tender care, —Love's fond embracement for somebody;There'll be the little one's charms, —Soon 't will be wakened for somebody.When I have both in my arms,Oh! but how blest will be somebody.Elise