Select Poetry.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 387, 12 July 1879, Page 3

Select Poetry.

"THE NAME OF MOTHER." There are words that speak of a quenchless love Which burns in the hearts we cherish, And accents that tell of a friendship proved, That will never blight or perish : There are soft words murmured by dear, dear lips, Far richer than any other ; But the sweetest word that the ear hath heard, Is the blessed name of mother. Oh, magical word ! may it never die From the lips that love to speak it; Nor melt away from the trusting hearts That even would break to keep it. Was there ever a name that lived like this ? Will there ever be such another ? The angels have reared in Heaven a shrine For the holy name of mother ! WELCOME AND FAREWELL. (From the German of Goethe.) My heart it throbs, mount, mount in haste ! 'Twas done before 'twas thought aright ; Twilight enshrouded wold and waste. And on the mountain hung the night: The oak in misty garment stood, Uptowering there his giant size, And darkness from the gloomy wood Glared with a hundred jet-black eyes. The moon, enthroned on cloudy height, Down through the mist did sadly peer : The soft wing swung its pinions light. And whispered strangely in my ear. Night framed a, thousand monsters dire. Yet boldly, joyously I rode : Ah then, within my veins what fire? What ardor in my bosom glow'd. I saw thee, ah ! what joy did glide From thy bewitching eyes on me ; And my whole heart was by thy side, I breathed my every breath for thee. With love for me the rosy hue That Spring's fresh breath had newly wrought On thy fair cheeks more lovely grew, Ye gods ! I hoped—deserved it not ! Yet, ah ! as soon as day returned, The pains of parting wrung my breast ; What charm then in thyy kisses burned ! How keen a grief thine eyes expressed ! I went— thine eyes to earth first roved, Then, tear-dimmed, watched me ride way Ye gods ! what rapture to be loved ! To love—how sweet what tongue can say !