BONNY birds, bonny birds,
Wherefore are ye singing?
Know ye not, care ye not
That the wild-wood, ringing
With your songs, joyous songs,
Autumn’s shroud is weaving?
Better far, better far,
Were ye silent grieving.
Sunbeam bright, Sunbeam bright,
Why through brown boughs peeping?
Know ye not; heed ye not,
That the flowers are sleeping?
Northern blasts, wintry blasts,
Pitilessly brake them.
Ye are come all too late,
Ever more to wake them.
Early dreams, Early dreams
Through dim heart-aisles flaunting;
Come not now, come not now,
Ruined temples haunting.
Waken not, waken not,
Hopes, that but deceive me,
Once so dear. Ay! so dear!
Now ye only grieve me.
Photographed.
GOOD evening, Cousin! I’ve come, you see,
Just as I promised; long ago,
Don’t look so astonished—Welcome me!
I’ve had a weary journey, you know.
The Artist has done his best to please,
Touched, and retouched, and polished well;
Chosen a posture of perfect ease,
Chattered of more than I can tell.
I asked him, half jesting, to flatter me,
For I need not be told that my face is plain;
And when photos are starting ‘over the Sea’
I feel in my heart I’m a trifle vain.
He smiled, then said to my strange request,
“Beauty ’bove that of the face, for me;
“Nature has given a richer bequest
“Than perfect form of feature, to thee.”
My foolish heart felt a joyous thrill—
“He gives me credit for mental worth,”
And fancy led me on, until
I stood by the noble and true of Earth.
Said I, “Thought is better than monarch’s crown,
“Better be great and good, than fair;”
But alas! My castles came tumbling down
When I found he was talking about—my hair.
At Even.
TOO weary to dream,
Too languid to pray,
Though with dreams and with prayers
I would fill the whole day;
For I love to dream,
And I fain would pray;
But I work the whole day,
And dream when I may,
And scarcely have ever
A moment to pray.
This toiling, plodding,
Prayerless elf;
Or, this soulful, mindful,
Inner self;
Thro’ numberless hours,
Or moments few,
Which is the false,
And which the true?
For I love to dream,
And I fain would pray;
But I work the whole day,
And dream when I may,
And scarcely have ever
A moment to pray.