I

THE WILD GEESE

HAD no sail to cross the sea,

A brave white bird went forth from me,
My heart was hid beneath his wing:

O strong white bird, come back in spring!

I watched the wild geese rise and cry
Across the flaring western sky;

Their winnowing pinions clove the light,
Then vanished, and came down the night.

I laid me low, my day was done,
I longed not for the morrow's sun,
But closely swathed in swoon of sleep,
Forgot to hope, forgot to weep.

The moon, through veils of gloomy red,
A warm yet dusky radiance shed
All down our valley's golden stream,
And flushed my slumber with a dream.

Her mystic torch lit up my brain ;
My spirit rose and lived amain,
And followed through the windy spray
That bird upon its watery way.

"O wild white bird, O wait for me!
My soul hath wings to fly with thee:
On foam waves, lengthening out afar,
We'll ride towards the western star.

"O'er glimmering plains, through forest gloom, To track a wanderer's feet I come;

'Mid lonely swamp, by haunted brake, I'll pass unfrighted for his sake.

"Alone, afar, his footsteps roam,

The stars his roof, the tent his home. Saw'st thou what way the wild geese flew To sunward through the thick night dew?

Carry my soul where he abides,

And pierce the mystery that hides

His presence, and through time and space Look with mine eyes upon his face."

Beside his prairie fire he rests, All feathered things are in their nests: "What strange wild bird is this," he saith, "Still fragrant with the ocean's breath?

"Perch on my hand, thou briny thing,
And let me stroke thy shy wet wing;
What message in thy soft eye thrills?
I see again my native hills,

"And vale, the river's silver streak,
The mist upon the blue, blue peak,
The shadows gray, the golden sheaves,
The mossy walls, the russet eaves.

"I greet the friends I've loved and lost,
Do all forget? No, tempest-tost,
That braved for me the ocean's foam,
Some heart remembers me at home.

"Ere spring's return I will be there, Thou strange sea-fragrant messenger!"

I wake and weep; the moon shines sweet, O dream too short! O bird too fleet !

OLIVER GOLDSMITH

(1728-1774)

AN ELEGY

On the glory of her sex, Mrs. Mary Blaize.

G

OOD people all, with one accord,
Lament for Madam Blaize,

Who never wanted a good word
From those who spoke her praise.

The needy seldom passed her door,
And always found her kind;
She freely lent to all the poor
Who left a pledge behind.

She strove the neighborhood to please With manners wondrous winning; And never followed wicked waysUnless when she was sinning.

At church, in silks and satins new,
With hoop of monstrous size,
She never slumbered in her pew
But when she shut her eyes.

Her love was sought, I do aver,
By twenty beaux and more;
The King himself has followed her
When she has walked before.

But now, her wealth and finery fled,
Her hangers-on cut short all;

The doctors found, when she was dead-
Her last disorder mortal.

Let us lament, in sorrow sore,
For Kent Street well may say,

That had she lived a twelvemonth more
She had not died to-day.

O

MEMORY

MEMORY, thou fond deceiver,
Still importunate and vain,

To former joys recurring ever,

And turning all the past to pain:

Thou, like the world, th' oppress'd oppressing,
Thy smiles increase the wretch's woe:
And he who wants each other blessing
In thee must ever find a foe.

“T

THE HERMIT

From the Vicar of Wakefield.

URN gentle Hermit of the dale,
And guide my lonely way
To where yon taper cheers the vale
With hospitable ray.

"For here forlorn and lost I tread,

With fainting steps and slow;