"O thou hollow ship that bearest Paris o'er the faithless deep, Wouldst thou leave him on some island, Where alone the waters weep? Where no human foot is moulded In the wet and yellow sand-- Leave him there, thou hollow vessel! Leave him on that lonely land! "Then his heart will surely soften, When his foolish hopes decay, And his older love rekindle, As the new one dies away. Visionary hills will haunt him, Rising from the glassy sea, And his thoughts will wander homewards Unto Ida and to me. "O! that like a little swallow I could reach that lonely spot! All his errors would be pardoned, All the weary past forgot. Never should he wander from me-- Never should he more depart, For these arms would be his prison, And his home would be my heart." Thus lamented fair Oenone, Weeping ever, weeping low, On the holy mount of Ida, Where the pine and cypress grow. In the self-same hour Cassandra Shrieked her prophecy of woe, And into the Spartan dwelling Did the faithless Paris go. THE BURIED FLOWER In the silence of my chamber, When the night is still and deep, And the drowsy heave of ocean Mutters in its charmed sleep, Oft I hear the angel-voices That have thrilled me long ago,-- Voices of my lost companions, Lying deep beneath the snow. O, the garden I remember, In the gay and sunny spring, When our laughter made the thickets And the arching alleys ring! O the merry burst of gladness! O the soft and tender tone! O the whisper never uttered Save to one fond ear alone! O the light of life that sparkled In those bright and bounteous eyes! O the blush of happy beauty, Tell-tale of the heart's surprise: O the radiant light that girdled Field and forest, land and sea, When we all were young together, And the earth was new to me: Where are now the flowers we tended? Withered, broken, branch and stem; Where are now the hopes we cherished? Scattered to the winds with them. For ye, too, were flowers, ye dear ones! Nursed in hope and reared in love, Looking fondly ever upward To the clear blue heaven above: Smiling on the sun that cheered us, Rising lightly from the rain, Never folding up your freshness Save to give it forth again: Never shaken, save by accents From a tongue that was not free, As the modest blossom trembles At the wooing of the bee. O! 'tis sad to lie and reckon All the days of faded youth, All the vows that we believed in, All the words we spoke in truth. Severed--were it severed only By an idle thought of strife, Such as time might knit together; Not the broken chord of life! O my heart! that once so truly Kept another's time and tune, Heart, that kindled in the spring-tide, Look around thee in the noon.