Part 5 (1/2)

TO CYBEL DEAR.

LOVE-SONG.

Though others plight for pride or gain, And mix the cup of love; Theirs be the duller troth, the stain; Ours the sweet stars approve.

My riches, love, they shall be thou; My pride, thy love for me: No diamond fairer decks a brow Than thine sincerity.

Though ours be tenements, not towers, Theirs, lawns and halls of ease, Beloved, 'tis heaven, not gold, is ours, And the realities.

No sordid wish doth make us one, But love, love, love.

O surely, surely, that is done Which the sweet stars approve.

THE STILL TRYST.

How love transcends our mortal sphere, And sees again the spirit-world, Forgot so daily. Thou art here;-- I know thee, sweet--though fair impearled Thy face in a far atmosphere To others,--hearing in the sea My love a-crying up to thee.

Thou by the surf, I on the lake:-- Yet in the _real_ world we meet; And O, for thy endeared sake, Love, all I am is at thy feet.

With thy life let me breathing take, And through all nature do thou see My love a-crying up to thee.

And with thine eyes shall I pursue Yon shower-veils from the sunset flying, Blown mid clouds white and lurid-blue That crowd the rainbow's arch, defying Him who in red death shoots them through.

Look with me; in this pageant see My love all glowing up to thee.

See what I see, hear what I hear, I too am with thee by the wave-- One all the day, the hour, the year: Our trust of love shall be so brave, We shall deny that death is here Or any power in the grave.

I know thee; thou canst love like this; Be ours the endless spirit-kiss.

Dusk falls. How purely s.h.i.+nes that star, Concealed while day was in the sky; Life, love and thou not mortal are, Though atheist noon your world deny.

Dusk falls:--though in the west a bar Of bloom on evening's pure cheek be; In beauty thy love cries to me.

THE CHICKIEBIDS.

The chickiebids are in their nest Overhead,-- Dimpled shapes of rosy rest Curled a-bed.

Night has sung her spell, and thrown Her dark net round Their heads; their pearly ears have grown Deaf to all other sound.

O of me how you are part, Babies mine!

Your hearts are children of my heart.

The inner sign Of my eyes lurks in your eyes, And your soul, That so brims with Paradise, Stirs what wonders roll Unsuspected in myself, Who had thought Life half death, till childhood's elf-- Sign of angels men shall be-- Came and taught A youth eterne within futurity.

THE CAUGHNAWAGA BEADWORK SELLER.

Kanawaki--”By the Rapid,”-- Low the sunset midst thee lies; And from the wild Reservation Evening's breeze begins to rise.

Faint the Konoronkwa chorus Drifts across the current strong; Spirit-like the parish steeple Stands thy ancient walls among.

Kanawaki--”By the Rapid,”-- How the sun amidst thee burns!

Village of the Praying Nation, Thy dark child to thee returns.

All day through the pale-face city, Silent, selling beaded wares, I have wandered with my basket, Lone, excepting for their stares!

They are white men; we are Indians; What a gulf their stares proclaim!