But now, as Nature wakes, joy hath full sway.
MacDowell lives! Grim death could not withstand
The tide of loving thought that flowed his way.
THE SPIRIT CALL
(_Celtic myth: "The ghosts of Fathers, they say, call away the souls
of their race, while they behold them lonely in the midst of woe."
"Erin's clouds are hung 'round with ghosts."_--OSSIAN.)
I go: my father's spirit calls!
From his gray cloud beholding,
He sees how thickly sorrow falls,
My lonely path enfolding.
So near he comes: I see him well:
He beckons, smiling, pleading!
I cannot in this sad world dwell,
When he is drawing, leading.
My heart is sore, he loves me dear,
My soul is weary, weary!
Father, I come, naught holds me here:
Thou lov'st, and life is dreary!
Bend lower, cloud, his spirit's home,
My helpless form to cover!
A gasp, a sigh, one faint, low breath,
And all life's woes are over.
A DESERTED FARM
Seeking a lodge remote from men,
A place for rest and labor,
Where I might inspiration gain,
Dame Nature for close neighbor,
I came on a deserted farm,
By forest deep surrounded;
'Twas mine, by ev'ry subtle charm,
I saw, with joy unbounded.
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