THE FIR.GROVE,
Or the fatal Flash.
Again the ripening crops begin to shine
Near the dark firs, where Agnes dropp'd and died,
Struck in a moment from her lover's side,
At that gay banquet, with its songs and wine ;
Well he remembers how the thunder broke
After the flash, that pierced their festal bower,
Where she lay prostrate in her hood and cloak,
Drawn round her, just to fend a summer-shower ;
Well he remembers, later in .the year,
How, when the pine-grove rang with questing hounds,
His soul reverted to those social sounds,
Dear Friendship's voice, and Love's, more wildly dear,
And how the Hunt seem'd like a drunken brawl
Crossing the silence of a funeral.
THE AXE FORBIDDEN.
That belt of pines is dearer to his heart,
Than all the busy interests of life ;
Since, on that festal morn, he saw the dart
Of heaven descending on his plighted wife.
No axe comes there ; the trees extend their shade ;
His loving sorrow interdicts their fall,
And warns the woodman from the holy glade ;
The death of Agnes has redeem'd them all !
Yon small white gate, deep-set in living green,
Through which she pass'd,—alas ! without return,—
Though distant, oft in sunny gleams is seen ;
Or when, before the rain, the sacred grove
Comes looming up, surcharged with death and love,
And bids the little gate stand forth and mourn !
Or the fatal Flash.
Again the ripening crops begin to shine
Near the dark firs, where Agnes dropp'd and died,
Struck in a moment from her lover's side,
At that gay banquet, with its songs and wine ;
Well he remembers how the thunder broke
After the flash, that pierced their festal bower,
Where she lay prostrate in her hood and cloak,
Drawn round her, just to fend a summer-shower ;
Well he remembers, later in .the year,
How, when the pine-grove rang with questing hounds,
His soul reverted to those social sounds,
Dear Friendship's voice, and Love's, more wildly dear,
And how the Hunt seem'd like a drunken brawl
Crossing the silence of a funeral.
THE AXE FORBIDDEN.
That belt of pines is dearer to his heart,
Than all the busy interests of life ;
Since, on that festal morn, he saw the dart
Of heaven descending on his plighted wife.
No axe comes there ; the trees extend their shade ;
His loving sorrow interdicts their fall,
And warns the woodman from the holy glade ;
The death of Agnes has redeem'd them all !
Yon small white gate, deep-set in living green,
Through which she pass'd,—alas ! without return,—
Though distant, oft in sunny gleams is seen ;
Or when, before the rain, the sacred grove
Comes looming up, surcharged with death and love,
And bids the little gate stand forth and mourn !