Does the golden goblet, brimming
With the precious, ruby wine,
Look back with weary longing
To the damp and dusky mine?
Is the sparkling coin, that beareth
A monarch's image, fain
To seek the glowing furnace,
Where they purged its dross again?
Would the chiselled marble gather
Its rubbish back once more.
And lie down, undistinguished,
In the rough rock as before?
Does the costly diamond, blazing
On that crowned and queenly one,
Look back with sorrowful gazing
To the coarse unpolished stone?
And shall man, the grandly gifted,
Earth's monarch, tho' Earth's son,
Turn back to court the shadows
Of existence scarce begun?
Nay; with strong arm and helpful
To aid the world's great lack,
Press on, nor pause a moment,
Supinely to look back!
MINNIEBEL
Where the willow weepeth
By a fountain lone,—
Where the ivy creepeth
O'er a mossy stone,—
With pale flowers above her,
In a quiet dell.
Far from those who love her,
Slumbers Minniebel.
There thy bed I made thee,
By that fountain side,
And in anguish laid thee
Down to rest, my bride!
Tenderest and fairest,
Who thy worth may tell!
Flower of beauty rarest,
Saintly Minniebel!
Weary years have borrowed
From my eye its light,
Time my cheek has furrowed,
And these locks are white;
But my heart will ever
Mid its memories dwell,
Fondly thine forever,
Angel Minniebel!
WEARY.
Weary of dreaming what never comes true,
Weary of thinking what never is new,
Of endeav'ring, yet never succeeding to do.
Weary of walking the dusty, old ways,
Weary of saying what every one says,
Weary of singing old, obsolete lays.