A Century of Emblems Part 6

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WINTER IN MAY.

Winter! black-browed and bearded with the snows, We thought thee vexed with April's wanton ways Brooding afar amid the Arctic floes, Or with new icebergs fringing dreary bays.

Loyal we honoured thy appointed time, And crowned thee January's lawful king; Why falls thy crushing sceptre edged with rime Upon the verdant loveliness of spring?

We think of Holbein's pencil, quaint and coa.r.s.e, And that weird skeleton in ghastly pride Haling to doom with such superfluous force All in her flowery youth the virgin bride.

THE SOLITARY.

Aweary of his worldly life, The tempter to elude, The hermit flies from work and strife To desert solitude.

But there, alas! finds no repose From Fancy's Comus crew, Since dream he must, where'er he goes, With nothing else to do.

Would'st drive such imps from heart and brain, Take, then, the ancient way, Prescribed in many a holy strain, And work as well as pray.

THE GOLDEN MEAN.

All inaccessible a Tree arose Amid the shining mountains of Cathay, Its head was capp'd with numbing mists and snows, Around its root a fiery whirlpool lay;

But midway 'twixt the furnace and the cloud Bright fruits were by the keen-eyed watchers seen; "There," cried the sage to the excited crowd, "Behold the treasures of the Golden Mean."

Then girt he some with wings, and won to skill Through many a fall between the earth and sun, The wings bore names--th' indomitable Will, And Faith--by these the glorious prize they won.

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AUTUMN.

He sat among the yellowing trees, Low winds to beech and oak did call, Murmuring of Nature's old decrees And yearly tribute to the Fall.

Now is there silence all around, And you may hear the branches cast Their offerings on the fragrant ground, 'Tis here an acorn, there a mast.

And thus in life's autumnal grove, At intervals, with bated breath, We hear the ripe ones whom we love Drop to the quiet home of death.

JUSTISSIMA TELLUS.

Dear mother Earth, no usurer thou, Since all who heed thy liberal law, For every dint of spade or plough On vale or heath or mountain brow, A full and punctual interest draw.

And still thy richest sheaves are they Which, in the ripeness of the years, The angel-reapers bear away To glory and eternal day, When nought of thee but dust appears.

Thrice happy they who trace the line In every quickening field and grove Of heaven's munificent design, The recompense of life divine For toiling days of faithful love.

THE FLINTY FIELD.

You scorn our hill of glittering flints As though 'twere sown with dragon's teeth, For that the surface gives no hints, No hopes of genial growth beneath.

Judge not the surface, bide the hour When He, whose grace can melt the rock, Shall bid o'er every flint to tower A hundred-headed golden shock.

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HOME AND ABROAD.

Black and white in a windy war-- Lo! wave devouring wave, And wilder as we look afar The ocean monsters rave.

But here, within this sheltering bight, A glossy sheet upcurls In whispering cadence low and light, Its rainbows fringed with pearls.

Secluded thus from outer brawl, In unambitious ease, Be ours the lowly home where all Is tuned to love and peace.

DISTANT SOUNDS.

The children at their evening play Shout from the village street; The wind blows all that's rude away, The rest is gay and sweet.

So from our garden seat on high, We love the sound to hear, For distance that enchants the eye Can fascinate the ear.

Trills that distract us from the cage Were in the woods a joy; Who scans too narrowly life's page Will many a boon destroy.