on my shoulder! Oh, would that I were younger, Oh, were I more like thee, I should not faintly hunger For love that cannot be. A girl might be caressed, Beside me freely sitting; A child on me might rest, And not like thee, unwitting. Such honour is thy mother's Who smileth on thy sleep, Or for the nurse who smothers Thy cheek in kisses deep. And but for parting day, And but for forest shady, From me they'd take away The burden of their lady. Ah thus to feel thee leaning Above the nursemaid's hand, Is like a stranger's gleaning, Where rich men own the land; Chance gains, and humble thrift, With shyness much like thieving, No notice with the gift, No thanks with the receiving. Oh peasant, when thou starvest Outside the fair domain, Imagine there's a harvest In every treasured grain. Make with thy thoughts high cheer, Say grace for others dining, And keep thy pittance clear From poison of repining. 1859. 

  

       MELLIREN     

      Can you so fair and young forecast The sure, the cruel day of doom; Must I believe that you at last Will fall, fall, fall down to the tomb? Unclouded, fearless, gentle soul, You greet the foe whose threats you hear; Your lifted eyes discern the goal, Your blood declares it is not near. Feel deeply; toil through weal and woe, Love England, love a friend, a bride. Bid wisdom grow, let sorrow flow, Make many weep when you have died. When you shall die—what seasons lie      'Twixt that great Then and this sweet Now! What blooms of courage for that eye, What thorns of honour for that brow! Oh mortal, too dear to me, tell me thy choice, Say how wouldst thou die, and in dying rejoice? Will you perish, calmly sinking To a sunless deep sea cave, Folding hands, and kindly thinking Of the friend you tried to save? Will you let your sweet breath pass On the arms of children bending, Gazing on the sea of glass, Where the lovelight has no ending? Or in victory stern and fateful, Colours wrapt round shattered breast, English maidens rescued, grateful, Whispering near you, "Conqueror, rest;"      Or an old tune played once more, Tender cadence oft repeated, Moonlight shed through open door, Angel wife beside you seated. Whatever thy death may be, child of my heart, Long, long shall they mourn thee that see thee depart. 1860 

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