Her people made her beauteous relics room Within the chamber where her consort slept. There rest they side by side. Around the tomb A thousand matrons solemn vigil kept. Long ages told the story of her reign, And sang the nuptial love that had no stain. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. I. SONGS AND STUDIES. SURF. Splendors of morning the billow-crests brighten, Lighting and luring them on to the land,— Far-away waves where the wan vessels whiten, Blue rollers breaking in surf where we stand. Curved like the necks of a legion of horses, Each with his froth-gilded mane flowing free, Hither they speed in perpetual courses, Bearing thy riches, O beautiful sea! Strong with the striving of yesterday’s surges, Lashed by the wanton winds leagues from the shore, Each, driven fast by its follower, urges Fearlessly those that are fleeting before; How they leap over the ridges we walk on, Flinging us gifts from the depths of the sea,— Silvery fish for the foam-haunting falcon, Palm-weed and pearls for my darling and me! Light falls her foot where the rift follows after, Finer her hair than your feathery spray, Sweeter her voice than your infinite laughter,— Hist! ye wild couriers, list to my lay! Deep in the chambers of grottos auroral Morn laves her jewels and bends her red knee: Thence to my dear one your amber and coral Bring for her dowry, O beautiful sea! TOUJOURS AMOUR. Prithee tell me, Dimple-Chin, At what age does Love begin? Your blue eyes have scarcely seen Summers three, my fairy queen, But a miracle of sweets, Soft approaches, sly retreats, Show the little archer there, Hidden in your pretty hair; When didst learn a heart to win? Prithee tell me, Dimple-Chin! “Oh!” the rosy lips reply, “I can’t tell you if I try. ’Tis so long I can’t remember: Ask some younger lass than I!” Tell, O tell me, Grizzled-Face, Do your heart and head keep pace? When does hoary Love expire, When do frosts put out the fire? Can its embers burn below All that chill December snow? Care you still soft hands to press, Bonny heads to smooth and bless? When does Love give up the chase? Tell, O tell me, Grizzled-Face! “Ah!” the wise old lips reply, “Youth may pass and strength may die; But of Love I can’t foretoken: Ask some older sage than I!” LAURA, MY DARLING. Laura, my darling, the roses have blushed At the kiss of the dew, and our chamber is hushed; Our murmuring babe to your bosom has clung, And hears in his slumber the song that you sung; I watch you asleep with your arms round him thrown, Your links of dark tresses wound in with his own, And the wife is as dear as the gentle young bride Of the hour when you first, darling, came to my side.