Mary Bradley. A SUMMER SONG. Bonny bird! Blackbird in the poplar-tree! 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 O the rare smile that will welcome me, • REGRET. Now, that you come no more to me, There is no song of bird or bee That for your silence can atone; The fragrant messengers of June— On every wind that comes and goes: What is an idle word to make Such shadow where was sun before? 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 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 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, 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, Death never could so cruel be As Life—and you-have proved to me! LITTLE MURIEL. "Out of the day and night My heart was happy yesterday, Responded to its influence, To-day the mellow sunshine lies 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 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, And blamed the child with bitter blame, And covered her with sudden shame, To sob and grieve the livelong day- 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 I soothed my heart with plans like these, Wherewith-since Muriel is dead I can no more be comforted. Somewhere in heaven to-day she stands. And, haply, lifts accusing hands |