Fleurs De Lys, and Other Poems Part 6

Sleep, Bright Eyes, sleep.

Sleep, dearest, sleep; in slumber thou art mine; Sleep, dearest, sleep; our souls still intertwine.

Yon radiant star that on thy couch doth s.h.i.+ne Bears from my lips a kiss to lay on thine.

Sleep, Bright Eyes, sleep.

_LOVE GUIDES US._

Love guides our bark, and we have naught to fear.

We are the world ourselves, and as we glide Upon the stream of life, if Love but steer, We care not how tempestuous the tide.

Thy head leans on my shoulder, and my arm Is round thee clasped. Thine eyes upturn to mine, So full of faith the future feels their charm Blunting Fate's dart that threatens joy of thine.

O Love! thy tresses wind about my sense, Thy glances melt my soul, and thy ripe lips Seem morning roses, red and dewy, whence The bee of love a draught of nectar sips.

Float on, float on upon the crystal tide, Our company these snowy swans that seem Our mirrored souls, pure love personified-- Float on, nor ever waken from our dream.

_THE LOVER'S APPEAL._

Tell me when you'll wed me?

Sweetest, name the day: Hope has well nigh fled me, Joy has slipped away.

Dearest, why this strange delay?

Must I sigh till we are gray?

With a smile, "Wait awhile, We are young," you say.

Do you know the reason Why the nightingale Through the drear night season Pipes her tuneful tale?

She was, once, like you, a maid, Who her wedding day delayed, And her swain, All in vain, For her favor prayed.

She had been a maiden Fair to look upon, Sweet as breezes laden With the scent of dawn.

But her lover prayed that she Rest not till eternity.

Heaven heard, And this bird, She was doomed to be.

Can you read the moral, Of this mournful tale?

Sweetheart, if we quarrel, To a nightingale I will change you, though I weep, You shall sing and never sleep.

With the owl You shall prowl Where the shades lie deep.

Tell me when you'll marry; Darling, name the day: Do not longer tarry, Life slips fast away.

Do not, like the nightingale, Live your harshness to bewail.

At your feet I entreat-- Let my love prevail.

OTHER POEMS.

_THE SPIRIT WIFE._

THE SACRIFICE.

Rabbi Ben Horad was a learned man, Of gentle ways, who taught a pious flock, So small, at morn and eve the s.e.xton ran From door to door, and with a triple knock Summoned the faithful who were dwelling there To kneel and seek the Lord in humble prayer.

The s.e.xton had a daughter, than whom dreamed Man fairer none, and from whose great, dark eyes An angel soul in spotless radiance beamed, As s.h.i.+nes a star from out the midnight skies.

She loved the Rabbi with a maid's first love: He wors.h.i.+pped her well nigh like G.o.d above.

Whene'er by mortal sickness sorely pressed One of the little congregation lay, The s.e.xton's mallet to the flock expressed With its sad knock his woe, and bade them pray; Arid oft their intercession with the Lord Prevailed, and He the invalid restored.

Late, late one night the s.e.xton sought to sleep, But ere he slept himthought he heard a sound That caused his heart to throb, his flesh to creep-- The ghostly knocking of his daily round-- And, trembling, to his child he cried in fear: "Some one is dying, daughter, dost thou hear?"

She heard the sound and answered with a cry, Love teaching her: "Oh! it is he, mine own: Rabbi Ben Horad is about to die-- Oh! father, haste! life may not yet have flown; Bid all our people pray, that G.o.d may hear, And in His mercy turn a willing ear."

All through the night the faithful people prayed That their beloved Rabbi still might live; And by their prayers the hand of death was stayed, Yet could their prayers no greater favor give; And so he lingered, while she watched the strife, With sinking heart, waged between death and life.

Then, as a last resort, from door to door The young men went, that all who wished might give Some s.p.a.ce of time out of their own life's store, That yielded to the Rabbi he might live.

Some gave a year, a month a week, a day, But wheresoe'r they went none said them nay.

At last they sought the maid and gravely asked: "What wilt thou give, O maiden?" and she cried-- By his sad plight her deathless love unmasked-- "Oh! gladly for his sake I would have died: Take all my life and give it unto him."

They wrote, but saw not, for their eyes were dim.

And lo! the Rabbi lived; but ere the earth Had thrice upturned its face to greet the sun, Hushed was the little congregation's mirth, For the sweet maiden's life its course had run; And, decked with flowers, they bore her to her grave, He sobbing by whom she had died to save.

THE SPIRIT SONG.

Chastened by grief, Ben Horad holier grew, And, uncomplaining, toiled from day to day.

His sad, sweet smile his loving flock well knew, His kindly voice their sorrows charmed away; Yet, though he bowed before his Master's will, His heart was sad, for he was human still.

By night or day, wherever he might stray, Through bustling city streets or lonely lane, One form he ever saw--a maiden gay; One voice he heard--a soft, melodious strain: And oh! the loneliness, to see and hear, Yet lack the tender touch of one so dear!

Long as he read into the silent night, The winking stars soft peeping in his room, While at his hand the dreamy, lambent light Just lit his book and left all else in gloom.

His study walls evanished, and in mist He saw the maid whose dead lips once he kissed:

Yet dead no more, but his dear spirit wife.

And still in heaven she sang the same glad strain She would have sung on earth had not her life Been given to him that he might live again, And as she sang he wept: "Ah! woe is me, Who robbed her of her sweet futurity."

There came a day when on the Rabbi's ears Fell the low moans of one in mortal pain.

Slowly they died, as though dissolved in tears, While a weak infant's wail took up the strain.