MY MUSE.

OME back to me, my Muse, did I affright thee With my harsh plaining or my chafing rude? Forgive, forgive, my base ingratitude, For in thy meanest smile I do delight me, And my soul longs for the ambrosial food For which thy vot'ries evermore have sued. See here, a fitting stanza, I'll indite thee

Till even thou shalt cry, "Behold, 'tis good." Oh, Muse of mine, I love thee-tho' I chide thee, I trust thee perfectly, nor fear to show

To thee my follies, and the weeds that grow Amid the flow'rets, where I fain would hide thee. Thou knowest I love thee-oh, my dainty Muse, 'Tis not the sleekest lover who best woos.

MY GRAVE.

WHEN I am dead will any gentle hand

Draw back the veil? Will any pitying eyes Drop very human tears? or breast breathe sighs Of sorrow and compassion? taking stand Near a lone mound by murm'ring breezes fann'd, Even my quiet grave. To think that I,

Who 'neath the turf in mould'ring ashes lie, Held once dread Poesy's most awful wand, And that the glorious gift brought misery,

Pain, and distemper'd longings thro' dull years Of hope deferred, and fruitless falling tears, And weeping, shall they cry, "Ah, me! ah, me! How has this brain oft reeled, this breast oft bled?" Sweet stranger, mourn the living, not the dead.

Miscellaneous.

97

FAUST AND MARGUERITE AT THE

CHURCH DOOR.

[From the painting by T. A. Jones, President Hibernian Academy.]

M

OST hapless lovers. Standing here to-day,

And gazing on your pictured faces fair,
Remembering her doom and his despair,
A grief I cannot stem, must have its way.
Oh! what an innocent soul thy brows declare,
Thou fairest, fondest, dearest Marguerite,

I could kneel down and kiss thy garments, Sweet,
And dew with my salt tears thy braided hair;
Who Nature's holiest law did but obey,

Nor dream that such rare joy could lead astray, And whelm ye both in ruin. Unaware,

As yet of all the anguish thou must bear.

G

Leave me this mem'ry of thee I implore,
And linger thus for ever by this door.

SONNETS.

Sacred.

GETHSEMANE AND CALVARY.

RT thou sore wounded? Think of that dread place Where Christ went forth to shame and death alone; Where of His chosen few there stayed not one,

And e'en the Father hid in wrath His face.

Hear, in the silence of thine heart, that groan,
The saddest earth hath heard, whose tone

Of agony re-echoed through all space,

Till listening angels wept before the throne. List to that broken spirit's piteous quest

"Eloi ! Eloi! Lama! Sabacthani !"

My God! My God! Hast Thou forsaken me?
Think 'twas for thee this arrow pierced His breast,
And let the outcry of the Christ's despair
Teach thee thy little hurt with smiles to bear.

Sacred.

99

EASTER.

AKE thou that sleepest, for thine Head is risen,
To-day He broke the fetters of the tomb,

To-day His dawning flooded all the gloom,
And tinted with its glory earth's dark prison.
Wake! sleep no more in bondage to Hell's chain;
Wake! and cast off the face-cloth from thy face,
With Him, the Great Redeemer of our race,
Who seek Him in the tomb, must seek in vain.
Go, weeping saint, thy Master is not here,
Seek not the living Lord among the dead—
Oh! Thou our glorified anointed Head,
Our flesh astonish'd sees thine empty bier,
Our spirit breaketh forth in gladsome cries—
If we be dead with Christ, with Him we'll rise.

THE MAN OF SORROWS.

HEN weary of the burden Time has brought,
And sick of all beneath the hateful sun,
cup of life seems but with trial fraught,
The web of life by none but furies spun.

The

When looking backward, there is nothing seen,
But a long blotted roll, all tears and shame ;
When hope grows sick, love burns with feeble flame,
And broken are the reeds whereon we'd lean.

In this dark moment of supremest pain

Draw near thou Man of Sorrows, chase the gloom!
Gild with thy pity e'en this living tomb,

Teach me 'tis only cowards who complain.

Man's weakness crieth out, God's strength drinks
E'en to the very dregs, life's bitterest cup.

up,

COME UNTO ME!

MERCY is with Thee, that thou may'st be feared,

And rest and joy, and comfort are with Thee. Hark! to those whispered words, "Come unto Me!" Ah, Lord! when sick at heart Thy throne I neared, How soon beneath Thy smile the dark grew bright, And as I lowly sank on humble knee,

Behold, I saw the shadows backward flee,

And I rose up rejoicing in the light,

Strong in Thy strength, my Saviour, who hadst known
All earthly sorrow, nor hadst shrunk to drain
The cup of more than mortal wrong and pain,
That I, the path to comfort might be shown;
Closing in shameful death thine heavenly eyes,
That I with Thee to endless joys might rise.

66

66 MAIDEN ARISE!"

E do profane with your unhallow'd tread, The sacred chamber, and the house of death," Thus Jesus to the hired mourners saith, And drove them forth; then only with the dead A waiting few in rev'rent silence stay'd, Peter, and James, and John, who yet should see Their Master's glory, and His agony;

With them the sire and mother of the maid. Then o'er the quiet form He bent Him low,

"Maiden arise !"—and at that pow'rful word, Lo! the still'd heart, and chainéd pulses stirr'd, While o'er the clay-cold cheek stole life's warm glow. Ah, Christ! when by dead hopes we pale and fear Thy sweet "Be not afraid," may we, too, hear.