A PORTRAIT. "One name is Elizabeth."—Ben Jonson. i paint her as I see her: And her face is lily-clear— Lily-shaped, and drooped in duty Oval cheeks encolored faintly, And a forehead fair and saintly, Face and figure of a child,— Though too calm, you think, and tender, For the childhood you would lend her. Yet child-simple, undefiled, Moving light, as all young things— Only free from flutterings Of loud mirth that scorneth measure— Choosing pleasures (for the rest) Quiet talk she liketh best. And her voice, it murmurs lowly, And her smile, it seems half holy. And if any poet knew her. He would sing of her with falls And if any painter drew her. And if reader read the poem, He would whisper—' You have done a Consecrated little Una!' And a dreamer (did you show him And a stranger,—when he sees her And all voices that address her. And all fancies yearn to cover The hard earth whereon she passes. And all hearts do pray, 'God love her t' HECTOR IN THE GARDEN. Nine years old! The first of any That the Greeks had used as many tt. Nine green years had scarcely brought me To my childhood's haunted spring: I had life, like flowers and bees In betwixt the country trees; And the sun the pleasure taught me Which hcteacheth every thing. |