Struck one clear chord to reach the ears of God: Is that time dead? lo! with a little rod I did but touch the honey of romance HER VOICE HE wild bee reels from bough to bough TH With his furry coat and his gauzy wing, Now in a lily-cup, and now Setting a jacinth bell a-swing, Sit closer love: it was here I trow Swore that two lives should be like one 'Twixt you and me! Dear friend, those times are over and done, Look upward where the poplar trees From the mighty murmuring mystical seas, Look upward where the white gull screams, Is that a star? or the lamp that gleams We have lived our lives in a land of dreams! Sweet, there is nothing left to say Will find a harbor in some bay, And so we may. And there is nothing left to do One world was not enough for two F RICHARD HENRY WILDE A FAREWELL TO AMERICA AREWELL, my more than fatherland! Home of my heart and friends, adieu! Lingering beside some foreign strand, How oft shall I remember you! How often o'er the waters blue, Send back a sigh to those I leave, The loving and beloved few, Who grieved for me,-for whom I grieve! We part !—no matter how we part, But when shall I each lovely spot It must be months,—it may be years,- Though humble,—few and far,—yet, still Those hearts and eyes are ever dear; Theirs is the love no time can chill, The truth no chance or change can sear! All I have seen, and all I see, Only endears them more and more; Roam where I will, what I deplore MY LIFE IS LIKE THE SUMMER ROSE' Y life is like the summer rose, MY That opens to the morning sky, But none shall weep a tear for me! My life is like the autumn leaf, That trembles in the moon's pale ray, Restless and soon to pass away! 1 These beautiful verses ran the risk of being considered merely a translation from the Greek. Some time after their publication they appeared in a Georgia newspaper in Greek, purporting to be an ode written by Alcæus, an early Eolian poet of obscure fame. Mr. Wilde, conscious that the poem was his own, had the matter investigated. It was found that the author was a young Oxford scholar, who had translated the poem into Greek for the purpose of deciding a wager that no one in the University was sufficiently familiar with the style of the early Greek poets to detect the forgery. We believe the student won the wager. Yet, ere that leaf shall fall and fade, The parent tree will mourn its shade, The winds bewail the leafless tree, But none shall breathe a sigh for me! My life is like the prints which feet Have left on Tampa's desert strand; Soon as the rising tide shall beat, All trace will vanish from the sand; Yet, as if grieving to efface All vestige of the human race, On that lone shore loud moans the sea, But none, alas! shall mourn for me! |