Fleurs De Lys, and Other Poems Part 11

_WINTER AND SUMMER_.

Come Winter, merry Winter, Rejoice while yet you may, For nearer, ever nearer, Fair Summer draws each day, And soon the tiny snowdrops Shall waken from their sleep, And, mossy banks from under, The modest violets peep.

The apple trees shall scatter Their buds at Summer's feet, And with their fragrant odors Make every zephyr sweet; While Nature, of wild roses, And lilies frail and white, Shall make a wreath for Summer, And crown her with delight.

Forth from the smiling heavens Shall fall the gentle rain, The earth shall feel her presence And welcome her with grain; The birds shall come and twitter, And build amid the boughs, So Winter, merry Winter, While yet you may, carouse.

We love you, merry Winter, You and the joys you bring, And loud and long your praises Throughout the world we sing; But Summer, gentle Summer, Comes shyly through the glade, And draws all hearts to love her, So fair is she arrayed.

We love the merry sleighing, The swinging snowshoe tramp, While in the clear, cold heavens The calm moon holds her lamp,

We love the breathless coasting.

The skating and the games Played amid shouts of laughter, Around the hearth-fire flames.

But Summer, winsome Summer, Holds greater stores of bliss, When all the land awakens, And blossoms at her kiss; We soon shall feel her presence, And breathe her perfumed breath, Then, Winter, dear old Winter, We will not mourn your death.

_DAUNTLESS_.

So he is dead. A strange, sad story clings About the memory of this mindless man; A tale that strips war's tinsel off, and brings Its horrors out, as only history can.

Within a peaceful town he dwelt in youth, His sister's hero and his mother's pride-- The soul of honor, the abode of truth, Beloved and reverenced on every side.

He had a sweetheart, lovely as the day, A gentle maid, who knew not half his worth, Who loved the sunshine, and who shrank away From sorrow, and forever followed mirth.

They were but young, and hope's mirage upreared In their warm hearts its rosy palaces; They deemed them real, and longing, only feared Life was too short for all the promised bliss.

And then came war, blood-spattered, cruel as h.e.l.l, And clamored with its iron voice for life-- Mother and sister and the wedding-bell.

The hero left, and hastened to the strife.

In vain he struck for liberty, and fell A captive, in his earliest affray; Then, threatening death, fierce Haynau bade him tell Where and how strong the patriot forces lay.

"I will not tell," he cried, with eyes aflame, "Do what thou wilt with me, I will not bring Doom to my land, and soil my honored name: From these sealed lips thou shalt no secret wring."

His captor only laughed. "He croweth well, Go, bring his mother and his sister here, And they shall die, if he refuse to tell!"

The hero answered not, but paled with fear.

The brutal soldiers to the brutish court Dragged the weak women, and they stood o'er-awed, Each to the other clinging for support, And praying in her misery to G.o.d.

The fell decree the shrinking creatures heard, And long in vain essayed to make reply, For their weak speech could find no fitting word To bear the burden of their agony.

Tears came at last. The brutal Haynau smiled, But all too soon. Weeping, the mother said: "Be not thy country's, traitor, oh! my child!

Too old am I the loss of life to dread."

Then spake the sister: "Brother mine, be brave!

Life hath no charms, if with dishonor bought; Think not of us, our bleeding country save-- Life is so short at best, death matters naught."

The hero made no answer, but he drove His nails into his palms, and choked for breath; His captor bade the soldiery remove The n.o.ble women--and they went to death.

"He hath a sweetheart," Haynau said again: "Go, bring her hither;" and they brought her there, Weeping with fear, and wailing low with pain, Amid the golden ringlets of her hair.

Then from the earth she sprang, frenzied with fear, Into her lover's arms, and kissed his cheek, And strok'd his hair, and called him "love" and "dear,"

And prayed him for her sake to yield and speak.

He thrust her from him, clasped her yielding form In his lithe arms again, and then once more Repulsed her gently, and the deadly storm That raged within him smote him to the floor.

Groping, he rose and spoke. None knew his voice: It sounded as though coming from a tomb.

"Oh! darling, it must be--I have no choice-- Thou would'st not have me seal my country's doom?"

Haynau made sign. "Away with her," he cried.

They seized their prey, but life to her was sweet, And, bounding from the soldiers at her side, Screaming she crouched, and clasped her lover's feet.

"Oh! for the love you bear me, save my life!

Tell what he asks, and we will fly this place Into some unknown land, where all this strife Shall be forgotten in love's sweet embrace."

He made no answer save by bending low, And kissing her damp brow. They raised their prize, And bore her to the door, as pale as snow, With all her soul outwelling from her eyes.

But here she turned, calm in her death despair, And in a voice that trembled with its hate, "My dying curse be on you everywhere, False love," she cried, "who send me to my fate."

There was a silence, then a fusilade Of musketry, a woman's scream and moan, Then silence. That was all, and in the shade Of night the hero laughed. Reason had flown.

_A CHILD'S KISS_.

Sweet is the maiden's kiss that tells The secret of her heart; Holy the wife's--yet in them dwells Of earthliness a part;

While in a little child's warm kiss Is naught but heaven above, So sweet it is, so pure it is, So full of faith and love.

'Tis like a violet in May That knows nor fear nor harm, But cheers the wanderer on his way With its unconscious charm.

'Tis like a bird that carols free, And thinks not of reward, But gives the world its melody Because it is a bard.

THE GRAVE AND THE TREE.