As if it pleased her to caress
A plant grown up so wild,
As if the being parentless

Made me the more her child.

Athwart my face when blushes pass
To be so poor and weak,

I fall into the dewy grass,
And cool my fevered cheek;

And hear a music strangely made,
That you have never heard,
A sprite in every rustling blade,
That sings like any bird.

My dreams are dreams of pleasantness,—

But yet I always run,

As to a father's morning kiss,

When rises the round sun;

I see the flowers on stalk and stem,
Light shrubs, and poplars tall,

Enjoy the breeze,—I rock with them,——
We're merry brothers all.

I do remember well, when first

I saw the great blue sea,—

It was no stranger-face, that burst

In terror upon me;

My heart began, from the first glance,

His solemn pulse to follow,

I danced with every billow's dance,

And shouted to their hollo.

The Lamb that at its mother's side
Reclines, a tremulous thing,
The Robin in cold winter-tide,
The Linnet in the spring,

All seem to be of kin to me,

And love my slender hand,

For we are bound, by God's decree,

In one defensive band.

And children, who the worldly mind

And ways have not put on,

Are ever glad in me to find

A blithe companion :

And when for play they leave their homes, Left to their own sweet glee,

They hear my step, and cry, "He comes,

Our little friend,—'tis he."

Have you been out some starry night,

And found it joy to bend

Your eyes to one particular light,

Till it became a friend?

And then, so loved that glistening spot,

That, whether it were far

Or more or less, it mattered not,—

It still was your own star.

Thus, and thus only, can you know,

How I, even scornèd I,

Can live in love, tho' set so low,

And' my ladie-love so high;

Thus learn, that on this varied ball, Whate'er can breathe and move, The meanest, lornest, thing of all— Still owns its right to love.

With no fair round of household cares

Will my lone hearth be blest,

Never the snow of my old hairs

Will touch a loving breast;

No darling pledge of spousal faith
Shall I be found possessing,

To whom a blessing with my breath

Would be a double blessing:

But yet my love with sweets is rife,
With happiness it teems,

It beautifies my waking life,
And waits upon my dreams;

A shape that floats upon the night,
Like foam upon the sea,-

A voice of seraphim,- -a light
Of present Deity!

I hide me in the dark arcade,
When she walks forth alone,---
I feast upon her hair's rich braid,—
Her half-unclasped zone:

I watch the flittings of her dress,
The bending boughs between,-
I trace her footsteps' faery press
On' the scarcely ruffled green.

Oh deep delight! the frail guitar
Trembles beneath her hand,

She sings a song she brought from far,

I cannot understand;

Her voice is always as from heaven,

But yet I seem to hear

Its music best, when thus 'tis given

All music to my ear.

She' has turned her tender eyes around, And seen me crouching there,

And smiles, just as that last full sound

Is fainting on the air;

And now,

I can go forth so proud,

And raise my head so tall.

My heart within me beats so loud,

And musical withal :

And there is summer all the while,
Mid-winter tho' it be,-

How should the universe not smile,
When she has smiled on me?

For tho' that smile can nothing more

Than merest pity prove,

Yet pity, it was sung of yore,

Is not so far from love.

From what a crowd of lovers' woes

My weakness is exempt!

How far more fortunate than those

Who mark me for contempt!

No fear of rival happiness

My fervent glory smothers,

The zephyr fans me none the less
That it is bland to others.

Thus without share in coin or land,
But well content to hold

The wealth of Nature in my hand,
One flail of virgin gold,—

My Love above me like a sun,

My own bright thoughts my wings,—
Thro' life I trust to flutter on,

As gay as aught that sings.

One hour I own I dread,-to die
Alone and unbefriended,—

No soothing voice, no tearful eye,—

But that must soon be ended;

And then I shall receive my part

Of everlasting treasure,

In that just world where each man's heart

Will be his only measure.

THE VIOLET-GIRL.

WHEN Fancy will continually rehearse Some painful scene once present to the eye, 'Tis well to mould it into gentle verse,

That it may lighter on the spirit lie.

I