PART XII.

Parting and Absence.

23

Why, why repine, my friend,
At pleasures slipt away?
Some the stern Fates will never lend,
And all refuse to stay.

I see the rainbow in the sky,
The dew upon the grass,
I see them, and I ask not why
They glimmer or they pass.

With folded arms I linger not
To call them back; 't were vain ;
In this or in some other spot

I know they'll shine again.

WALTER S. LANDOR.

PART XII.

Parting and Absence.

"GOOD-BY."

WE say it for an hour or for years;
We say it smiling, say it choked with tears;
We say it coldly, say it with a kiss ;

And yet we have no other word than this, -
Good-by."

We have no dearer word for our heart's friend,
For him who journeys to the world's far end,
And scars our soul with going; thus we say,
As unto him who steps but o'er the way,

"Good-by."

-

Alike to those we love and those we hate,
We say no more in parting. At life's gate,
To him who passes out beyond earth's sight,
We cry, as to the wanderer for a night,

"Good-by."

GRACE DENIO LITCHFIELD.

PARTING.

If thou dost bid thy friend farewell,

But for one night though that farewell may be,

Press thou his hand in thine.

How canst thou tell how far from thee

Fate or caprice may lead his steps ere that to-morrow comes? Men have been known to lightly turn the corner of a street,

And days have grown to months, and months to lagging years, Ere they have looked in loving eyes again.

Parting, at best, is underlaid

With tears and pain.

Therefore, lest sudden death should come between,
Or time, or distance, clasp with pressure firm

The hand of him who goeth forth;

Unseen, Fate goeth too.

Yes, find thou always time to say some earnest word
Between the idle talk,

Lest with thee henceforth,

Night and day, regret should walk.

COVENTRY PATMORE

MY DAUGHTER LOUISE.

IN the light of the moon, by the side of the water,
My seat on the sand and her seat on my knees,
We watch the bright billows, do I and my daughter,
My sweet little daughter Louise.

We wonder what city the pathway of glory
That broadens away to the limitless west
Leads up to-she minds me of some pretty story
"To the city that mortals love best."
Then I say, "It must lead to the far-away city,
The beautiful city of rest."

And says

In the light of the moon, by the side of the water,
Stand two in the shadow of whispering trees,
And one loves my daughter, my beautiful daughter,
My womanly daughter Louise.

She steps to the boat with a touch of his fingers,
And out on the diamonded pathway they move.
The shallop is lost in the distance; it lingers,

It waits, but I know that its coming will prove
That it went to the walls of the beautiful city
The magical city of love.

In the light of the moon, by the side of the water,
I wait for her coming from over the seas;

I wait but to welcome the dust of my daughter,
To weep for my daughter Louise.

The path, as of old, reaching out in its splendor,
Gleams bright, like a way that an angel has trod;

I kiss the cold burden its billows surrender,
Sweet clay to lie under the pitiful sod;

But she rests, at the end of the path, in the city,
"Whose builder and maker is God."

HOMER GREENE.

ONLY.

AND this is the end of it all! it rounds the year's completeness; Only a walk to the stile, through fields afoam with sweetness; Only the sunset light, purple and red on the river,

And a lingering, low good-night, that means good-by forever.

So be it! and God be with you! It had been perhaps more

kind,

Had you sooner (pardon the word) been sure of knowing your

mind.

We can bear so much in youth-who cares for a swift, sharp pain?

And the two-edged sword of truth cuts deep, but it leaves no stain.

I shall just go back to my work- my little household cares, That never make any show. By time, perhaps in my prayers, I may think of you! For the rest, on this way we 've trodden together

My foot shall fall as lightly as if my heart were a feather,

And not a woman's heart, strong to have and to keep,
Patient when children cry, soft to lull them to sleep,
Hiding its secrets close, glad when another's hand'
Finds for itself a gem where hers found only sand.

Good-by! The year has been bright. As oft as the blossoms

come,

The peach with its waxen pink, the waving snow of the plum,
I shall think how I used to watch, so happy to see you pass,
I could almost kiss the print of your foot on the dewy grass.

I am not ashamed of my love! Yet I would not have yours now,

Though you laid it down at my feet; I could not stoop so low.
A love is but half a love that contents itself with less
Than love's utmost faith and truth and unwavering tenderness.

Only this walk to the stile; this parting word by the river,
That flows so quiet and cold, ebbing and flowing forever.
Good-by!" Let me wait to hear the last, last sound of his

"

feet!

Ah me! but I think in this life of ours the bitter outweighs the

sweet.

The Argosy.

BEFORE SAILING.

LEAN closer, darling, let thy tender heart

Beat against mine that aches with heavy woe;
Drop thy quick woman's tears to soothe thy smart.
Ah me that I could ease my sorrow so!

But man must work, sweetheart, and women weep,
So says the song, so runs the world's behest;
Yet time will pass, and tender comfort creep
With hope in company unto thy breast.
Now, ere we part, while yet on lip and cheek
Close kisses linger, clinging, passionate,