JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

1819

HEBE.

I saw the twinkle of white feet,

I saw the flash of robes descending,—
Before her ran an influence fleet

That bow'd my heart, like barley bending.

As in bare fields the searching bees
Pilot to blooms beyond our finding,
It led me on,-by sweet degrees,
Joy's simple honey-cells unbinding.

Those Graces were that seem'd grim Fates;
With nearer love the sky lean'd o'er me;
The long-sought secret's golden gates
On musical hinges swung before me.

I saw the brimm'd bowl in her grasp,
Thrilling with godhood; like a lover,
I sprang the proffer'd life to clasp :
The beaker fell, the luck was over.

The earth has drunk the vintage up:
What boots it patch the goblet's splinters?
Can Summer fill the icy cup

Whose treacherous crystal is but Winter's?

O spendthrift Haste! Await the Gods!
Their nectar crowns the lips of Patience.
Haste scatters on unthankful sods
The immortal gift in vain libations.

Coy Hebe flies from those that woo,

And shuns the hands would seize upon her; Follow thy life, and she will sue

To pour for thee the cup of honour!

THE COURTIN'.

God makes sech nights, all white an' still
Fur'z you can look or listen,
Moonshine an' snow on field an' hill,
All silence an' all glisten-

Zekle crep' up quite unbeknown

An' peek'd in thru' the winder,

An' there sot Huldy all alone,
'Ith no one nigh to hender.

A fire-place fill'd the room's one side
With half a cord o' wood in,—
There warn't no stoves (tell comfort died)
To bake ye to a puddin'.

The wa'nut logs shot sparkles out
Towards the Pootiest, bless her!
An' leetle flames danced all about
The chiny on the dresser.

Agin the chimbley crook-necks hung,
An' in amongst 'em rusted,

The ole queen's-arm that gran❜ther Young
Fetch'd back from Concord busted.

The very room, coz she was in,

Seem'd warm from floor to ceilin',

An' she look'd full ez rosy agin
Ez the apples she was peelin'.

'Twas kin' o' kingdom-come to look
On sech a blessed cretur :
A dog-rose blushin' to a brook
Ain't modester nor sweeter.

He was six foot o' man, A 1,
Clean grit an' human natur';
None couldn't quicker pitch a ton,
Nor dror a furrer straighter.

He'd spark'd it with full twenty gals,

He'd squired 'em, danced 'em, druv 'em,
Fust this one, an' then thet, by spells :
All is, he couldn't love 'em.

But long o' her his veins 'ould run
All crinkly, like curl'd maple;
The side she bresh'd felt full o' sun
Ez a South slope in A'pil.

She thought no v'ice hed such a swing
Ez hisn in the choir;

My! when he made Old Hundred ring,
She know'd the Lord was ǹigher.

An' she'd blush scarlit, right in prayer,
When her new meetin'-bunnet
Felt somehow thru' its crown a pair
O' blue eyes sot upon it.

That night, I tell ye, she look'd some!
She seem'd to've gut a new soul,
For she felt sartin-sure he'd come,
Down to her very shoe-sole.

She heer'd a foot, an' know'd it tu,
A-raspin' on the scraper,-
All ways to once her feelins flew
Like sparks in burnt-up paper.

He kin' o' l'iter'd on the mat,
Some doubtfle o' the sekle;
His heart kep' going pity-pat,
But hern went pity Zekle.

An' yit she gin her cheer a jerk

Ez though she wish'd him furder, An' on her apples kep' to work,

Parin' away like murder.

"You want to see my Pa, I s'pose?"

"Wal

-no

-I come dasignin'

"To see my Ma? She's sprinklin' clo'es Agin to-morrer's i'nin'."

To say why gals act so or so,

Or don't, 'ould be presumin'; Mebbe to mean Yes an' say No Comes nateral to women.

He stood a spell on one fut fust,
Then stood a spell on t'other;
An' on which one he felt the wust
He couldn't ha' told ye nuther.

Says he "I'd better call agin;

Says she-" Think likely, Mister!
That last word prick'd him like a pin,
An' Wal, he up an' kist her.

When Ma bimeby upon 'em slips,

Huldy sot pale ez ashes,

All kin' o' smily roun' the lips
An' teary roun' the lashes.

For she was jes' the quiet kind

Whose naturs never vary,

Like streams that keep a summer mind
Snow-hid in Jenooary.

The blood clost roun' her heart felt glued
'Too tight for all expressin',

Tell mother see how matters stood,
And gin em' both her blessin'.

Then her red come back like the tide
Down to the Bay o' Fundy.

An' all I know is they was cried

In meetin' come nex' Sunday.

THE FOUNTAIN.

Into the sunshine,

Full of the light,

Leaping and flashing

From morn till night,

Into the moonlight,

Whiter than snow,

Waving so flower-like

When the winds blow,—

Into the starlight

Rushing in spray,

Happy at midnight,

Happy by day,

Ever in motion,

Blithesome and cheery,

Still climbing heavenward,

Never aweary,

Glad of all weathers

Still seeming best, Upward or downward, Motion thy rest,—

Full of a nature

Nothing can tame, Changed every moment,

Ever the same,—

Ceaseless aspiring,

Ceaseless content,

Darkness or sunshine
Thy element,--

Glorious Fountain!

Let my heart be

Fresh, changeful, constant, Upward, like thee!