IN LIBRA.

IN LIBRA.
I.

'Neath the calm, transparent blue
Of a summer sky in spring,
Sweeping lightly o'er the dew,
List'ning while the robins sing;
Tripping, singing songs as sweet,

Full of praise, and love, and joy-
Though such hours are few and fleet,
What cares she or baby boy?

Is her heart as free as birds
In the sunny, sunny spring?

In her heart no other words

Than with Nature's music ring?

Has the symphony of life

Ne'er been marred in that young breast?

As fond mother and true wife

Has her soul found tranquil rest?

Angels know; but here to-day in the sunny month of May,
Question not; what is't to thee what the angel's records say?
See'st thou not that sparkling jewel that she wears upon her breast?
Surely dazzling nymph or naiad with such beauty ne'er was blest!

Of her arms he makes a throne,
And her heart is leal and true;
But to make his wishes known
His sweet bidding she will do.

Ah, he wears a royal crown

And its gems are in her eyes;
On her white breast, soft as down,

Regal couch, he trusting lies.

Mother love! Ah, who will say in this cloudless month of May,
Nymph or naiad, queen or fairy ever were more blithe or gay?

Sweet Titania, dancing fairies, in the meads of asphodel-
Were they sweeter than this darling that the mother loves so well?
In her heart he finds a kingdom that will never pass away,
True, eternal as the heavens, bright as heav'n's own sunny ray.
Will he trample on it rudely? Still its deep root lives and pines.
Will death rob her of her treasure? Lo, her love a beacon shines!
There are kingdoms, heavy crosses, there are hearts that love and die.
Earth has thrones and grievous losses, hearts that moan, yet silent lie.
Strength of arm and soul is given, deep and fair is life's wide sea,
But beside the loss of Heaven, stands the loss of Niobe.*

See him now, the dimpled love,

How his brimming eyes o'erflow.
Sweet voice, cooing as the dove,
Shrill with fun or soft and low.
See those dimpled, soft arms twine
Round the neck he loves to kiss;
Ah, those lips! the reddest wine
Never gave such nectared bliss!

Oh, there never was a sunbeam half so bright as baby's smile;
Cupid's arrows, most unerring, fail so sweetly to beguile,
As the nestling, dancing dimples pressed in silk of pink and white,
And the home were dull and sunless, but for joy of baby-light.
Roses, fairies, moonlight, sunlight, calm blue skies or rainbows bright,
Flow'ry banks and daisied meadows, summer clouds and amber light.
Verdant slopes and gentle twilight, nature's fairest, sweetest grace,
All concentered, to another, fade before her baby's face.

For his birth was in the skies

Near the burning throne of gold;

First upon those cherub eyes

Beamed that land where none grow old.

Is it strange the diadem

Gleams with rays of wondrous worth?

Can a bright, celestial gem

Be compared with things of earth?

II.

In her soul a sudden thought-
Was it brought by Azrael?
God forbid! See it hath wrought
Blighting sadness where it fell!
Upward now her glances stray,

Heart and soul in terror thrill;
Bird and sunlight, where are they?

Can this be the Father's will?

Poor young mother, can it be that the angel asked of thee

Now to choose thy darling's fate: sin's grim night or Heav'n's bright gate?
Must he fall in deep transgression, roam from Heav'n and God afar,
Or be numbered with the angels, shining o'er thee as a star?

Low she kneels; no soothing tear
Cools the burning of the brain-

Oh, through all the future years
Must she call his name in vain!

* Niobe, whose children were slain by the unerring golden arrows of Phœbus

Apollo, was turned to stone by her intense grief.

↑ Azrael, the angel of death, according to Hebrew and Mohammedan mythology.

357

IN LIBRA.

Must the sunlight darken so
O'er her aching, aching heart,
Or the pangs of deeper woe

Be her loved one's awful part?

How she clasps her dear one closer, pleading Heav'n for some relief!
Still the angel sternly offers that black, bitter cup of grief.

Must it be the one or other? Stern, unbending there he stands
With the cups of bitter sorrow in his pale and steady hands!

Angel! thee I've seen before

And thy sword once touched my heart,

All the heavens darkened o'er

When my loved and I did part.

Song of birds and light of stars
Never are what once they were;
Gloom the golden sunlight mars-
Oh, thy visit still defer!

Father! God! I trust in Thee!

Thou wilt bridge the chasm dread!

Keep my lamb's white purity,

Though the flow'rs grow o'er his bed!

Thus by breaking, frantic heart
Yields to Heav'n its lovely own;

With my all to Thee I part,

Let me henceforth weep alone!

Leave me lov'd! of such as thou

Is God's kingdom pure and bright.
Let me kiss thy pale, fair brow:
God will keep it always white.
Through the labyrinths of life,

In the dark o'erwhelming sea,
In the pressing, gloomy strife,

He will guide me safe to thee!

Oh, my heart will hold thee ever pure and sacred, bright and fair;
Ne'er shall touch of gloom approach thee, blight of sin or cloud of care,
Angel hands will bear my baby to the sunny fields afar,

And the light of those dear eyes shall be my guiding, beaming star.

"'Tis enough!" the angel cried,

"Take thy boy in tranquil love.

In the balance thou art tried,
God approves; keep thou thy dove!

May he bless thee, faithful one,

In thy youth and in thine age;

May he, as God's faithful son,

Keep unstained his history's page!"

III.

Could we render all to God, kiss the hand that holds the rod,

For the sake of dear Love's chast'ning, though our lov'd sleep 'neath the sod.
We should see their spirits o'er us shining in the darkest cloud,
Beck'ning with a light before us far too bright to see the shroud.

We shall only see the glory, all the vict'ry, all the hope,
And the grave would be forgotten in the vista that would ope,
To our ere-while darkened spirits, in the day so soon to be
In the future, mourning pilgrim, coming swift to you and me.

Ruby Lamont.

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