The prayer of Ajax was for light; Through all that dark and desperate fight, The blackness of that noonday night, He asked but the return of sight, To see his foeman's face. Our portion of the weight of care, That crushes into dumb despair One half the human race. O suffering, sad humanity! Patient, though sorely tried! I pledge you in this cup of grief, Where floats the fennel's bitter leaf! The Battle of our Life is brief, The alarm, the struggle, the relief, Then sleep we side by side. MAIDENHOOD. MAIDEN! with the meek, brown eyes, In whose orbs a shadow lies Thou whose locks outshine the sun, As the braided streamlets run! Standing, with reluctant feet, Gazing, with a timid glance, On the river's broad expanse! Deep and still, that gliding stream Beautiful to thee must seem, As the river of a dream. Then why pause with indecision, When bright angels in thy vision Beckon thee to fields Elysian? Seest thou shadows sailing by, Hearest thou voices on the shore, That our ears perceive no more, Deafened by the cataract's roar? O, thou child of many prayers! Life hath quicksands, - Life hath snares! Care and age come unawares ! Like the swell of some sweet tune, Morning rises into noon, May glides onward into June. Childhood is the bough, where slumbered Birds and blossoms many-numbered; Age, that bough with snows encumbered. Gather, then, each flower that grows, To embalm that tent of snows. Bear a lily in thy hand; Gates of brass cannot withstand One touch of that magic wand. |