THE old house by the lindens
Stood silent in the shade,
And on the gravel'd pathway,
The light and shadow played.
I saw the nursery windows
Wide open to the air;
But the faces of the children,
They were no longer there.
The large Newfoundland house-dog
Was standing by the door;
He looked for his little playmates
Who would return no more.
They walked not under the lindens,
They played not in the hall;
But shadow, and silence, and sadness
Were hanging over all.
The birds sang in the branches,
With sweet familiar tone;
But the voices of the children
Will be heard in dreams alone.
And the boy that walked beside me, He could not understand
Why closer in mine, ah! closer,
I pressed his warm, soft hand.
THERE is a fair, frail thing of earth,
A flower of radiant bloom,
Yet morning sunbeam sees its birth—
The evening star its tomb.
It flings its wreath o'er lady's bower,
O'er mountain, vale, and grove;
It is, it is the Passion flower
Of man's inconstant love.
There is a flower not passing fair,
That boasts no sunny bloom,
Ye would not tell the floweret there
Save from its rich perfume.
Yet 'tis earth's loveliest, richest dower,
Would you its virtue prove ?
It is, it is the Lily flower
Of woman's constant love.
There blooms a flower, yet not of earth,
Can healing balsam shed
O'er the crushed hopes, and withering dearth
By human passion spread.
It blossoms yet in mortal bower,
Would ye its virtue prove?
It is the Amaranthine flower
Of Heaven-directed love.
THE shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice,
A banner, with the strange device,
Excelsior!
His brow was sad; his eye beneath
Flashed like a faulchion from its sheath,
And like a silver clarion rung,
The accents of that unknown tongue,
Excelsior!
In happy homes he saw the light
Of household fires gleam warm and bright;
Above, the spectral glaciers shone,
And from his lips escaped a groan,
'Try not the Pass,' the old man said,
'Dark lowers the tempest overhead,
The roaring torrent is deep and wide!'
And loud that clarion voice replied,
Excelsior!
'O stay!' the maiden said,' and rest Thy weary head upon this breast!
A tear stood in his bright blue eye,
But still he answered with a sigh,
'Beware the pine-tree's withered branch, Beware the awful avalanche !'
This was the peasant's last good night; A voice replied, far up the height,
At break of day, as heavenward
The pious monks of St. Bernard
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer,
A voice cried through the startled air,
Excelsior!
A traveller by the faithful hound,
Half buried in the snow was found,
Still grasping in his hand of ice,
That banner with the strange device,.
Excelsior!
There in the twilight cold and gray,
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay,
And from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell, like a falling star,
S. E. Carpenter.
FIRST VOICE.
We are two wandering stars; we come
From the sphere that gave us birth,
To know if the flowers are beautiful
That dwell on the clay-cold earth,
We have been to the dells where the violets grow
And the early flowers spring;
Oh, rich are the gems in this world below,
You have many a lovely thing.
We come from the realms of love and light,
But there's nought in that world of ours,
That dazzles and shines more fair and bright
Than a wreath of the earth's wild flowers;
Then sigh not, children of mortal mould,
For the joys you cannot know,
While the beautiful earth is crowned with flowers,
To gladden your path below.
Te are two wandering stars; we go
To the realm that gave us birth,
But our eyes shall rest on the flowers below,
The stars of the lovely earth.
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