For all things else, still reading
Of Elf-land he has left.
Yet how can we reprove him!
To bless us, too, he's come,
We who so fondly love him,
This fairy of our home.
Another that still longer
To us the sun has shown, For her our love seems stronger, If stronger can be known; Kate is her name 'mongst misses, At school she sings and plays, And wins from us, what kisses, What smiles, and prayers, and praise! Surely with her caressings
Our maiden here has come,
To fill our years with blessings,
Fair fairy of our home.
But best and last, O maiden,
That mov'st before our sight,
A joy to us grief-laden,
A bliss in our delight;
May, O thou priceless treasure,
Best gift we ever knew,
Who shall the gladness measure,
The joy we find in you!
How our hopes brood above you!
Let tears-let sorrow come,
We'll laugh while we can love you,
Best fairy of our home.
O fairies, never leave us!
O still breathe mortal breath!
not of one, bereave us,
Thou fear whose name is Death!
These human blooms, O let them
Live on to summer here,
And not till winters fret them
Bid them to disappear!
Lord, leave them to caress us!
Through good, through ill to come,
Still let these dear ones bless us-
These fairies of our home!
BY A GRAVE IN LEE CHURCHYARD.
FATHER-father, here I linger;
Years have passed since last I came, Thus to trace, with faltering finger,
On this stone, your vanished name;
That dear name, what dear lips told it
Once that name, now named by none
But by those, how few! who hold it
Dear as I, your lonely son.
Father, father, I am yearning
That long-vanished form to see,
That face that is but returning
Dim, as in a dream, to me;
Few the years that dear face blessed me
Ere it awed my childish sight,
Father, no more to caress me,
From its coffin, calm and white.
Then but as a child I wept you,
Deeply as a child's heart can
In its love my child's heart kept you,
But no more than now I'm man;
Not as much; O early-pined-for,
Father, o'er whose grave I bow,
See, with tears, these eyes are blind for
Those dear eyes that see me now.
Yes, while here your dust is sleeping,
O dear soul these lips would kiss,
You are in some new world keeping
Watch o'er those you loved in this;
Still my evil thoughts controlling,
Joying in my earthly joy,
I have felt you, grief consoling,
Warning-strengthening me, your boy.
O from empty space before me,
Father dear, that you might start,
Might now bend that dear face o’er me
And look love into my heart!
But not to these eyes while living
Shall that blessed lost look come;
No more words to mine are giving
Those dear lips, for ever dumb.
Shall I not hereafter know you,
O my father, yet again?
Yes, to these eyes death shall show you,
When I leave life's joy and pain;
With the bliss of those long parted,
O how cherished, O how sweet,
Is the thought that then, glad-hearted,
Father, father, we shall meet!
YES, yours be pleasant dreaming;
My little ones, while here,
May fancies to your seeming
As sweet as facts appear;
Not only dreams of fairy
And elf-land yours should be,
Like those vouchsafed to Mary,
But those that May would see.
Sweet visions without number
Not only I'd have come,
Such as delight your slumber
When daylight's dreams are dumb,
That, even though free from terror
And fearful forms of night,
With unshaped thought and error
Our sealed-up eyes delight.
No, but the fairest fancies
That through the sunshine sing,
And to all life's mischances
A balm and comfort bring;
Dreams dear to babbling baby
And girl alike and boy,
And youth and age when maybe
Life's older cares annoy.
Yes, dreams that bless all ages,
I wave my wand!-descend,
Ye hopes of all life's stages
Until its solemn end.
Dreams that with pictured story
Make small ones hush their breath,
Dreams that can light to glory
The gathering glooms of death.
O Norman, tiny treasure,
Last blessing lent from Heaven,
Dreams but of baby pleasure
To those small eyes be given.
Dreams but of blessed blisses
For ever meet your sight,
Of mother's looks and kisses,
Of mother's rapt delight.
Sweet fancy do your duty!
In Mary's dreams disclose Dolls of unearthly beauty
With cheeks that dim the rose; To dress-to nurse-to chide them,
Wax angels to her send,
If she have cares, to hide them
And all her griefs to end.
To Willie, breeched and coated,
That restlessest of boys,
Give boats that may be floated,
All supermortal toys;
Such tarts as have no being,
School-prizes, Christmas times,
Pictures no eyes are seeing,
And ceaseless pantomimes.
To Harold, endless cricket
Where he is always in,
Where no ball floors his wicket,
Dread tales and lots of tin;
Scenes in the Circus, jumpings
By goddesses in gauze,
Schools where he gets no thumpings.
And countless tops and taws.
And Kate, my darling, rising
Some one year in your teens,
Hope dream for you, disguising
The future's chequered scenes!
Dream on of friends and lovers
Tender and kind and true
As each small one that hovers
At parties now by you.
Dream, May, O almost woman,
O to our hearts how dear!
Of all bliss that is human
That God can give you here! Dream that the love around you, Dream that the hearts of home, Its praise and prayers surround you, Whatever, dear, may come !
May book-land sights be lending
That suit the eyes of each
With new delights unending
That love and goodness teach,
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