Southern garland . hour of deep repose. And by the winter fire I sat; Remembered faces love and dsath made wondrous sweet, Of purest spirit flame :The hour beside the ruin grey. The kiss by summer beautiful, so sad, were seen In delicate clear light. Children, unborn, but passionateWith mournful loveliness. Smiled through their tears, and she was thereWho did my long years bless ; And all my simple pilgrim gold-Old print with passing gleam fl Rose On ivied tower, old summer walks of RJflrCt. By haunted mount and stream . » The flame paled on the hollied crest And on the mistle
Southern garland . hour of deep repose. And by the winter fire I sat; Remembered faces love and dsath made wondrous sweet, Of purest spirit flame :The hour beside the ruin grey. The kiss by summer beautiful, so sad, were seen In delicate clear light. Children, unborn, but passionateWith mournful loveliness. Smiled through their tears, and she was thereWho did my long years bless ; And all my simple pilgrim gold-Old print with passing gleam fl Rose On ivied tower, old summer walks of RJflrCt. By haunted mount and stream . » The flame paled on the hollied crest And on the mistletoe,And something whispered in my heart T was time for me to go;Aside my spirit, seraph-fresh. Stood looking on the clayChastened for service of thz soul, Then turned tow^ard the Day. I w^oke ; and to my dreaming eyes The hour was as before ;But still I knew my life was changed,. Then and for w^istful passion in my breast Is not for earthly I must seek a City still Wherever I may roam. ^ vi. A NIGHT-WATCH. Jl ROSC HE sallow autumn light, the evening red * ^^9^»- Of dying hearth, a twilight sad andloneMade in my room; and in a wakingsleep I heard from out the heart of night a moanAnd sighing whisper, calling me to keep A vigil with the dead ;And I remembered her who slesps afarIn English earth beneath the shadowed greenOf yew and cypress, and what might have beenFrom lover sweet as eve and single star. Again in deep of silent summer air We trod the forest path, and in a mistOf golden lights and shadows pouring down On bed of dry and faded leaves we on her head I placed a fragrant crown Of flowers shy and rare,And told her tales of knight and maid forlorn. Of castle, haunted upland, fairy well, And wistfully, fraught with the woodland spell,We bent to listen for the magic horn. Within that other thicket of black oak And pensive streaming crimson, azure, simple country chapel, hand in hand. We knelt in stillness, while the closing nightAn
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