Chapter XVI

_That_, too, was but a dream. What startled me?
The winds are making havoc ’mong the leaves
Of summer-time, and each once happy tree
For its lost darlings rocks itself and grieves.
The night is dark, the sky is thick with clouds--
Kind frost-nymphs make the little leaves their shrouds!

WINTER.

Now lies Adonis in Prosérpine’s breast,
Who o’er him spreads a mantle lily white,
And every dryad, with disordered vest,
Teareth her hair for sorrow at the sight.
And ere he waketh, many an eye, now bright,
Shall deaden; many a rosy cheek shall pale;
O’er many a fair, young head shall rise the wail
Of those whom Death hath spoiled of their delight.
And, when, at touch of Spring, the winding sheet
That wraps thee now, Adonis, melts to flowers,
To deck thee for thy Queen; and sunny Hours,
Dancing around thee on their soft swift feet,
Sing “Wake, Adonis;” many a one shall weep
For those that in the Earth’s dark bosom sleep.

PER NOCTEM PLURIMA VOLVENS.

I.

When the weary sun has ended his journey and descended,
By his own bright, golden pathway, to his mansion in the west,
And the sentry stars have taken the sky he has forsaken,
To watch till he awaken, bright and smiling, from his rest;

II.

And the Moon is rising slowly with a light serene and holy,
The Queen of all the watchers, the sister of the Sun,
And hushed are all the noises from Earth’s unnumbered voices,
And the heart of sleep rejoices in the conquest he has won;

III.

In the still, unbroken quiet, free from day’s unceasing riot,
I love to call around me the friends of long before,
And to fill my vacant places with the well-remembered graces
Of dear, old familiar faces that may smile for me no more.

IV.

Some that shared my boyish pastime, as they seemed to me the last time
That I saw them, full of life and joy and hope that knew no bound,
But who now are sad and grieving, and have lost the gay believing
In the deeds of hope’s achieving, or--are laid beneath the ground;--

V.

Some, not merely friends for pleasure, but who cherished
friendship’s treasure
More than gold or worldly honour or gay fashion’s fickle smile,
Who would neither scorn nor flatter, who spoke honestly, no matter
How the world might grin and chatter, loving truth and hating guile;--

VI.

Some whose silvery hair seemed saintly, and whose eyes though
shining faintly,
Shed a tender lustre o’er me that will light me till the grave
That with all men I inherit takes my body, and my spirit,
Trusting in my Savour’s merit, has returned to God who gave;--

VII.

One, whom I have lost forever, but whom I will still endeavour
To deserve, though undeserving to have passed before her eyes,
For I know that while I love her, what is best and purest of her
Near me, through my life shall hover, like an angel from the skies;--