Thou hast caught the wondrous beauty Of the round cheek’s roseate hue; And the full red lips are smiling, As this morn they smiled on you. To that lady thou hast given Immortality below, Wherefore, then, with moody glances Dost thou from thy labor go? From the living face of beauty Beams the soul’s expressive ray, And, with all thy god-like genius, _This_ thou _never_ canst portray! Of the countless throng around me, Each hath labors like to thine; Each, methinks, some Mona Lisa In his spirit’s inmost shrine. Visions haunt us from our childhood Of a love so pure, so true, Seraphs unawares might envy As their white wings fan the Blue; Visions that elude forever, As the silent years depart, Some unhappy ones and weary— Mona Lisas of the heart! Dreams of a divine completeness That we struggle to attain, ’Mid the doubts and toils harassing Of our earthly life in vain; Poet fancies we endeavor To imprint upon the scroll, Yet for worded utterance failing— Mona Lisas of the soul! * * * * * TO A CANARY BIRD. BY WILLIAM GIBSON, U. S. NAVY. Sweet little faery bird, Gentle Canary bird, Beats not thy tiny breast with one regret? Is it enough for thee Ever, as now, to be Caged as a prisoner, kissed as a pet? Gay is thy golden wing, Careless thy caroling, Thou art as happy as happy can be; Singing so merrily, Hast thou no memory Of thy lost native isle o’er the sea? Not the Hesperides, Floating on fabled seas, Nothing in Nature, and nothing in song, Match with the magic smile, Which, from thine own sweet isle, Hushes the heaving wave all the year long. Summer and youthful Spring, Blooming and blossoming, Hand-in-hand, sister-like, stray thro’ the clime; There thou wert born, amid Fruits colored like thee, hid In the green groves of the orange and lime. Then was the silver lute Of the young maiden mute, When, from the shade of her own cottage-eaves, Rang first thy joyous trill, While, with a gentle thrill, Tho’ the breeze stirred them not, shivered the leaves. Thou, like a spirit, come From thy far island-home, Seemest of spring-time and sunshine the voice. Light-hearted is thy lay, As, on the lemon spray, Love, little singing bird, made thee rejoice.