* * * * *

See the silvery bubbles spring! 
Good! the mass is melting now! 
Let the salts we duly bring
Purge the flood, and speed the flow. 
From the dross and the scum,
Pure, the fusion must come;
For perfect and pure we the metal must keep,
That its voice may be perfect, and pure, and deep.

That voice, with merry music rife,
The cherish’d child shall welcome in;
What time the rosy dreams of life,
In the first slumber’s arms begin. 
As yet in Time’s dark womb unwarning,
Repose the days, or foul or fair;
And watchful o’er that golden morning,
The Mother-Love’s untiring care!

      And swift the years like arrows fly—­
      No more with girls content to play,
      Bounds the proud Boy upon his way,
      Storms through loud life’s tumultuous pleasures,
      With pilgrim staff the wide world measures;
      And, wearied with the wish to roam,
      Again seeks, stranger-like, the Father-Home. 
      And, lo, as some sweet vision breaks
        Out from its native morning skies,
      With rosy shame on downcast cheeks,
        The Virgin stands before his eyes. 
      A nameless longing seizes him! 
        From all his wild companions flown;
      Tears, strange till then, his eyes bedim;
        He wanders all alone. 
      Blushing, he glides where’er she move;
        Her greeting can transport him;
      To every mead to deck his love,
        The happy wild flowers court him! 
      Sweet Hope—­and tender Longing—­ye
        The growth of Life’s first Age of Gold;
      When the heart, swelling, seems to see
        The gates of heaven unfold! 
    O Love, the beautiful and brief!  O prime,
    Glory, and verdure, of life’s summer time!

* * * * *

Browning o’er the pipes are simmering,
Dip this fairy rod within;
If like glass the surface glimmering,
Then the casting may begin. 
Brisk, brisk to the rest—­
Quick!—­the fusion to test;
And welcome, my merry men, welcome the sign,
If the ductile and brittle united combine.

For still where the strong is betrothed to the weak,
And the stern in sweet marriage is blent with the meek,
Rings the concord harmonious, both tender and strong: 
So be it with thee, if for ever united,
The heart to the heart flows in one, love-delighted;
Illusion is brief, but Repentance is long.

    Lovely, thither are they bringing,
      With her virgin wreath, the Bride! 
    To the love-feast clearly ringing,
      Tolls the church-bell far and wide! 
    With that sweetest holyday,
      Must the May of Life depart;
    With the cestus loosed—­away
      Flies ILLUSION from the heart! 
        Yet Love lingers lonely,
          When Passion is mute,
        And the blossoms may only
          Give way to the fruit.