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Mary Bradley.

A SUMMER SONG.

Bonny bird! Blackbird in the poplar-tree!
Silver-sweet the song is that you sing to me;
All the glow and sparkle of the day begun,

All the dew and fragrance of the day that's done,

All the sighing winds and laughing waters meet

In your liquid, rippling notes, to make them ring so sweet.

In the early morning wakefully I lie

And watch the dawn redden along the eastern sky;

Scent of rose and honeysuckle lightly wander in

While I lie listening for your song to begin,

And my heart leaps, it trembles in my breast

With a secret rapture that cannot be expressed.

For there's a latticed window where honeysuckle grows, Where a little maid looks forth like a summer rose;

O so rosy-sweet she is, bonny, bonny bird,

At the lightest thought of her my very heart is stirred!

Last night when I passed her latticed window by,

She smiled at me, she blushed—oh, Blackbird, tell me why!

Some day I shall know what smiles and blushes mean, Some day I shall tell her, with many a kiss between, That the whole world, if it were mine to take,

I would lose lightly, only for her sake.

Lightly I would lose the world, but not the little maid Whose love for me so sweetly with a blush is betrayed!

Fly down, bonny Blackbird, from your poplar-tree,
And tell my little sweetheart to watch to-night for me;
When the moon shines, when falls the silver dew
Upon her window roses, I shall follow you;

And O the rare smile that will welcome me,
Bonny bird! Blackbird! is worth a world to see!

• REGRET.

Now, that you come no more to me,
O love, how dreary life has grown!

There is no song of bird or bee

That for your silence can atone;
And since I go my ways alone,
There is no light on land or sea.

The fragrant messengers of June—
White jessamine and brier-rose-
Breathe through the golden afternoon

On every wind that comes and goes:
I care for no sweet breath that blows,
The whole world being out of tune.

What is an idle word to make

Such shadow where was sun before?
When others sleep, I watch and wake,

And restless pace my chamber-floor :

Now, that you come to me no more, O love, it seems my heart must break.

And these are days! How shall it be
If years must drag the lengthening chain
Of sad and bitter memory?

How shall we live our lives again,

With all its sweetness spent in vain ?

O love, come back once more to me!

-BEYOND RECALL.

There was a time when Death and I
Met face to face together:

I was but young indeed to die,

And it was summer weather; One happy year a wedded wife, Yet I was slipping out of life.

You knelt beside me, and I heard,
As from some far-off distance,
A bitter cry that dimly stirred

My soul to make resistance.

You thought me dead: you called my name,

And back from Death itself I came.

But oh! that you had made no sign, –

That I had heard no crying!

For now the yearning voice is mine,
And there is no replying:

Death never could so cruel be

As Life—and you-have proved to me!

LITTLE MURIEL.

"Out of the day and night
A joy has taken flight."

My heart was happy yesterday,
For on the hills the sunshine lay
In golden mist; and common things,
In the sweet bloom that autumn brings,
Grew beautiful, till every sense

Responded to its influence,
And not a leaf upon a tree,
But in its stirring gladdened me.

To-day the mellow sunshine lies
As tenderly along the skies,
And with as rare a splendor fills
The purple hollows of the hills;
But all the joy of yesterday,
And sweet content, have passed away,
Since in my hearing it was said
That little Muriel was dead.

I never loved the child too well

That little pale-faced Muriel;

There was not in her looks or ways

The charm, indeed, to win one's praise;

And, save the natural regret

For youth and death untimely met,

And pity for the mortal strain

Upon a childish heart and brain,

The news, for me, had never made

The glory of the hills to fade;

Had never caused the rustling sheaves
And all the wind-tossed scarlet leaves,
To sigh with such an undertone

Of sorrow for my heart alone,

If I could answer, verily,

That she had borne no wrong from me.

But once, for something lightly heard,
I spoke a harsh and hasty word,

And blamed the child with bitter blame,

And covered her with sudden shame,
Until, dismayed, she crept away,

To sob and grieve the livelong day-
evil meant,

And yet, for any

She was entirely innocent.

I knew it afterward, in vain,

And suffered such remorseful pain As one must, in remembering Wrong wrought upon a helpless thing. But still, I set my heart at rest With promises of wrong redressed: "Some time," I said, "I will repay "All that she bore from me that day.

"I will make glad with some surprise
"Of sweets or toys, her childish eyes;
"And my caresses, free and kind,
"Shall blot the trouble from her mind."

I soothed my heart with plans like these,
With petty plans and promises,

Wherewith-since Muriel is dead

I can no more be comforted.

Somewhere in heaven to-day she stands.

And, haply, lifts accusing hands

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