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238 SARAH HELENA WHITMAN.

Comes wafting gentle thoughts from Memory's land,
And wakes the long hushed of the heart.

Oft dewy spring hath brimmed the brook with showers,
Oft hath the long, bright summer fringed its banks
With fragrant blossoms, and the autumn sere
Shed mellow hues on all its wooded shores,
Since first I trod these paths in youth's sweet prime,
With loved ones whom time's desolating wave
Hath wafted now for ever from my side.

The living stream still lingers on its way
In idle dalliance with the dew-lipped flowers,
That toss their fairy heads at its caress,
Or trembling listen to its silver voice;
While through yon rifted boughs, the evening star
Is seen above the hill-top, beautiful
As when on many a balmy summer night,
Lapp'd in sweet dreams, "in holy passion hush'd,"
I saw its ray slant through the dusky pines.

Long years have passed, and by the unchanging stream,
Bereft and sorrow-taught, alone I stand
Listening the follow music of the winds,
Along,—alone;—the stars are far away,
And frequent clouds shut out the summer heaven,
But still the calm earth keeps her constant course,
And whispers—"Hope," thro' all her breathing bowers!
Not all in vain the vision of our youth,
The apocalypse of beauty and of love,
The stag-like heart of hope;—life's mystic dream
The soul shall yet interpret, to our prayer
The Isis veil be lifted! Though we pine
E'eu 'mid the ungather'd roses of our youth,
Pierced with strange pangs, and longings vague yet sweet,
As if earth's fairest flowers served but to wake


SARAH HELENA WHITMAN.  239

Sad haunting memories of our Eden home;—
Not all in vain!

   Meantime in patient trust
Rest we on Nature's bosom; from her eye
Serene and still, drinking in faith and love;
To her calm pulse attempering the heart
That throbs too wildly for ideal bliss.
Oh! holy mother, heal me, for I faint
Upon life's arid pathway, and "my feet
On the dark mountains stumble!" Near thy heart
Close nestling let me lie, and let thy breath,
Fragrant and cool, fall on my fever'd cheeks,
As in those unworn ages were pale thought
Forestall'd life's patient harvest. Give me strength
In generous abandonment of heart,
To follow wheresoe'er o'er the world's waste
The cloudy pillar moveth, till at last
It guides to pleasant vales and pastures green,
By the still waters of eternal life!

A SONG OF SPRING

IN April's dim and showery nights,
When wandering perfumes, faint and rare,
Float on the breeze; and phosphor lights
Glimmer and fade along the air;

When the green turf is white with flowers,
Where orchards shed their floral wreath,
And like the fairy-gifted child,
Drop precious pearls at every breath;

When all night long the boughs are stirr'd
With fitful warblings from the nest,
And the heart flutters like a bird,
With its sweet, passionate unrest;

Transcription Notes:
---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-28 19:25:51