Thou feel'st, poor little Bride, A hand unknown and chill Clasp thine from out the wide Deep shade so deathly still. Thy sad heart, wingless, weak, Is sunk in this black shade So deep, thy small hands seek, Vainly, the pulse God made. Thou art yet but highness, thou That shaft be majesty: Though still on thy fair brow Some faint dawn-flush may be, Child, unto armies dear, Even now we mark heaven's light Dimmed with the fume and fear And glory of battle-might. Thy godfather is he, Earth's Pope,--he hails thee, child! Passing, armed men you see Like unarmed women, mild. As saint all worship thee; Thyself even hast the strong Thrill of divinity Mingled with thy small song. Each grand old warrior Guards thee, submissive, proud; Mute thunders at thy door Sleep, that shall wake most loud. Around thee foams the wild Bright sea, the lot of kings. Happier wert thou, my child, I' the woods a bird that sings! NELSON R. TYERMAN. [Footnote 1: Marie, daughter of King Louis Philippe, afterwards Princess of Würtemburg.] MY HAPPIEST DREAM. _("J'aime à me figure.")_ [Bk. III. vii. and viii.] I love to look, as evening fails, On vestals streaming in their veils, Within the fane past altar rails, Green palms in hand. My darkest moods will always clear When I can fancy children near, With rosy lips a-laughing--dear, Light-dancing band! Enchanting vision, too, displayed, That of a sweet and radiant maid, Who knows not why she is afraid,-- Love's yet unseen! Another--rarest 'mong the rare-- To see the gaze of chosen fair Return prolonged and wistful stare Of eager een. But--dream o'er all to stir my soul, And shine the brightest on the roll, Is when a land of tyrant's toll By sword is rid. I say not dagger--with the sword When Right enchampions the horde, All in broad day--so that the bard May sing the victor with the starred Bayard and Cid! AN OLD-TIME LAY. _("Jamais elle ne raille.")_ [Bk. III. xiii.] Where your brood seven lie, Float in calm heavenly, Life passing evenly, Waterfowl, waterfowl! often I dream For a rest Like your nest, Skirting the stream. Shine the sun tearfully Ere the clouds clear fully, Still you skim cheerfully, Swallow, oh! swallow swift! often I sigh For a home Where you roam Nearing the sky!