THE CRY OF THE DESERTED

ONE

I

OH, that I had some sweet magical charm,
Some secret and powerful spell

To cast over him who enchants my soul

Over him whom I love so well.

II

If only a share of the deep, deep throbs
That fill my tumultuous heart,

Were echoed in his to the smallest degree,

To even a thousandth part.

III

Oh, then would it leap with supremest joy,
Then hotly the wildfire would glow;

Oh, then would the life-stream rush through my frame,

Which slowly is languishing now!

IV

Ah, there was a time when the whisper of love
Oft came from his lips all unsought;

But now hath his heart grown cold as the sea,
And my love for him is as naught.

V

Where then shall I find the magical wand,

Or elixir worthy all cost,

To kindle again the fire of his love;

The love that is doomed to be lost.

VI

Ah, what is my beauty? my empire is gone—
What care I for woman's soft grace,

When he who's my world, my life, and my joy

No longer looks into my face?

VII

No longer dwells he on the sound of my voice

Which he singled from out the world's throng; Its music is gone; 'tis now like the lyre

Whose strings are all broken-unstrung.

VIII

If only its chords were touched by his hand
How quick would the vibrating string
Give harmony sweet, for answering love
The lost music would surely bring.

IX

Oh, must I then cherish his image no more,
And banish him ever from sight,

And crush out the love that's sapping my life,
That's turning my day into night?

X

Can the sunflower forget the bright orb of day,

Her idol, her lover confessed?

And oh, can the rose forget the soft dew

That nightly doth fall on her breast?

XI

In the infinite future of love

His spirit will come to my side;

In the eternity endless I'll gain

That love which on earth he denied.

TO MY BROTHER

I

WHEN Autumn brings the russet leaf,
And Earth is all a-glowing
With colours rich of yellow sheaf
That in the fields are flowing
In waves of beauty, while the air
In gentle zephyrs playing

Makes rhythm in the meadows fair,
And lines of beauty laying.

II

Then Nature's poetry is sung,
For Earth herself is trying

To make her music with sweet tongue
In cadence softly sighing.

'Twas thus in sweetest time of year

A little babe thou camest,

To fill thy niche, and unknown here

On earth a place thou claimest.

III

And when the harvest moon shines clear;

With stronger lustre beameth,

Then memory brings thee very near

And at my side thou seemeth

To list, and wonder as before,
When thou to me appealing,
I told thee tales in days of yore,
Of fancy, or of feeling.

IV

But soon I wake and find thee gone ;-
'Twas but a spell of dreaming ;—

I here, thou there, and all alone,
Above the great moon gleaming.

And yearly as the Autumn wanes
My heart would fain be showing
Its love towards thee, and full contains
A measure overflowing.