The Book of Ballads Part 23

Alas for man's uncertain lot!

Alas for all the hopes of youth That fade like thee--Forget-me-not!

Alas for that one image fair, With all my brightest dreams inwrought!

That walks beside me everywhere, Still whispering--Forget-me-not!

Oh, Memory! thou art but a sigh For friendships dead and loves forgot, And many a cold and altered eye That once did say--Forget-me-not!

And I must bow me to thy laws, For--odd although it may be thought-- I can't tell who the deuce it was That gave me this Forget-me-not!

The Meeting.

Once I lay beside a fountain, Lulled me with its gentle song, And my thoughts o'er dale and mountain With the clouds were borne along.

There I saw old castles flinging Shadowy gleams on moveless seas, Saw gigantic forests swinging To and fro without a breeze;

And in dusky alleys straying, Many a giant shape of power, Troops of nymphs in sunshine playing, Singing, dancing, hour on hour.

I, too, trod these plains Elysian, Heard their ringing tones of mirth, But a brighter, fairer vision Called me back again to earth.

From the forest shade advancing, See, where comes a lovely May; The dew, like gems, before her glancing, As she brushes it away!

Straight I rose, and ran to meet her, Seized her hand--the heavenly blue Of her eyes smiled brighter, sweeter, As she asked me--"Who are you?"

To that question came another-- What its aim I still must doubt-- And she asked me, "How's your mother?

Does she know that you are out?"

"No! my mother does not know it, Beauteous, heaven-descended muse!"

"Then be off, my handsome poet, And say I sent you with the news!"

The Mishap.

"Why art thou weeping, sister?

Why is thy cheek so pale?

Look up, dear Jane, and tell me What is it thou dost ail?

"I know thy will is froward, Thy feelings warm and keen, And that _that_ Augustus Howard For weeks has not been seen.

"I know how much you loved him; But I know thou dost not weep For him;--for though his pa.s.sion be, His purse is noways deep.

"Then tell me why those tear-drops?

What means this woeful mood Say, has the tax-collector Been calling, and been rude?

"Or has that hateful grocer, The slave! been here to-day?

Of course he had, by morrow's noon, A heavy bill to pay!

"Come, on thy brother's bosom Unburden all thy woes; Look up, look up, sweet sister; Nay, sob not through thy nose."

"Oh, John, 'tis not the grocer Or his account, although How ever he is to be paid I really do not know.

"'Tis not the tax-collector; Though by his fell command They've seized our old paternal clock, And new umbrella-stand!

"Nor that Augustus Howard, Whom I despise almost,-- But the soot's come down the chimney, John, And fairly spoilt the roast!"

Comfort in Affliction.

"Wherefore starts my bosom's lord?

Why this anguish in thine eye?

Oh, it seems as thy heart's chord Had broken with that sigh!

"Rest thee, my dear lord, I pray, Rest thee on my bosom now!

And let me wipe the dews away, Are gathering on thy brow.

"There, again! that fevered start!

What, love! husband! is thy pain?

There is a sorrow on thy heart, A weight upon thy brain!

"Nay, nay, that sickly smile can ne'er Deceive affection's searching eye; 'Tis a wife's duty, love, to share Her husband's agony.

"Since the dawn began to peep, Have I lain with stifled breath; Heard thee moaning in thy sleep, As thou wert at grips with death.

"Oh, what joy it was to see My gentle lord once more awake!

Tell me, what is amiss with thee?

Speak, or my heart will break!"

"Mary, thou angel of my life, Thou ever good and kind; 'Tis not, believe me, my dear wife, The anguish of the mind!

"It is not in my bosom, dear, No, nor my brain, in sooth; But Mary, oh, I feel it here, Here in my wisdom tooth!

"Then give,--oh, first best antidote,-- Sweet partner of my bed!

Give me thy flannel petticoat To wrap around my head!"

The Invocation.

"Brother, thou art very weary, And thine eye is sunk and dim, And thy neckcloth's tie is crumpled, And thy collar out of trim; There is dust upon thy visage,-- Think not, Charles, I would hurt ye, When I say, that altogether You appear extremely dirty.

"Frown not, brother, now, but hie thee To thy chamber's distant room; Drown the odours of the ledger With the lavender's perfume.

Brush the mud from off thy trousers, O'er the china basin kneel, Lave thy brows in water softened With the soap of Old Castile.