THE NEW SEARCH AFTER HAPPINESS.

A BUCOLIC.

———

BY E. FOXTON.

———

When with glances far and free

My Spirit stood at Childhood’s knee,

And gazed and smiled with careless glee,

To see the fateful spinsters three

Draw deftly out from carded naught

Its first soft rainbow thread of thought,

My playmate true, delight and joy,

Was a tiny wingéd boy.

Nightly nestled in my breast,

His legends lulled me to my rest;

Thence his voice awakening gay

Trilled back the early linnet’s lay;

In the bird’s nest, in the tree,

By the purling rill sat he;

From wind-rocked blue-bells flashed his eye;

He floated round the butterfly;

His little golden head rose up

In the water-lily’s cup;

His saucy breath, with nectar fed,

Puffed at me from the violet’s bed.

Half in sport and half caress;

Oh, dear artless Happiness!

Womanhood one day me found,

And my brows with roses crowned.

In a naiad’s glass I saw,

Pleased, my graces touched with awe;

And “These royal flowers shall be

Forged to links, my boy, for thee,”

So I said. From morn till eve

Through my haunts the shepherds grieve;

But the urchin bursts amain

Shouting from my bloomy chain,

Bursts and leaves me all forlorn,

Pricked and bleeding with a thorn.

“Why thus wrong my gentleness,

Light, inconstant Happiness!”

All in tears to bring me ease,

Back he flew, and made his peace;

And my every art I tried

Aye to keep him at my side;

April floods of tears and smiles,

Soft confessions, simple wiles;

Then I seized my harp and sang;

Far and wide the chorus rang;

(Round me flocked the grave, the gay,

But the rover would not stay;)

“Peerless, wronged, thy votaress,

Cruel, fleeting, Happiness.”

Oft and oftener still his flight;

Longer still he shunned my sight;

Till I left my woodlands dim,

And set forth in quest of him

To the tourney, feast and ball,

(In their turn I peeped at all,)

Court, and hermitage, and camp,

Still halls where burns the midnight lamp,

And the sunk-eyed scholar delves

Slowly through the groaning shelves,

Where old souls, that erst were men,

Speak and teach the young again,

And, while creation’s bounds they track,

Cast their endless shadows back;

Vainly still I sought to find

Him I sought among mankind.

Still his semblance proved to be

Garish Mirth or Vanity;

And still of all I sought in vain

Good tidings of the lost to gain.

The scholar said, “In poet’s book;”

The poet, “In some leafy nook;”

“Oh, which?” “I know not yet,” he says,

“Go thou and seek—’mid clustering bays;”

The lawyer, “In the judge’s gown;”

The judge, “In ermine’s lordly down;”

The peer, “He’s in my liege’s crown;”

The king, “He rides the victor’s glaive;”

And he, “In peaceful Lethe’s wave,

Or, haply, in the hermit’s cell;”

The hermit said, “I know him well,

Seek him in the house of prayer;”

“Nay, I know he can’t be there!

Pride shall bravely fill thy place,

False and treacherous Happiness!”

Prim sat Pride, then dropped asleep,

Leaving me to watch and weep.

Round my dimpled shoulders clung

My dewy locks at random flung;

Wildered strayed my fleecy band;

Loosed the crook my listless hand,

Playing with the dreary rue

At my cavern’s mouth that grew,

And forgot its tuneful craft.

At my plight the shepherds laughed;

“She is sick at heart, you know;

She loved,—wise maidens do not so;

So fare all idle fools who chase

The subtle, coy sprite, Happiness!”

Dropped its silver balls from sight

The starry clepsydra of night;

And the morn brought jocund glee

To the world, and not to me,

“Would I ne’er had seen thy face,

Happiness, lost Happiness!”

Stung with swarms of wretchedness,

I plunged into the wilderness;

Toward the Eastern land of spells

Me some secret power impels;

“There some wily witch,” I thought,

“In her toils the boy has caught.”

Through the shadows, through the sun,

And surging sands I journeyed on,

Till the sun his gold lance set

In rest to prick from Olivet.

Glorious light the morrow showed.

Nor to him its lustre owed.

Up the steep of Zion’s hill

Rose a being brighter still.

Silvery white the garb she wore,

And a cross of flowers she bore;

From vulgar gaze her charms, amid

A dark, enshrining mask, she hid,

Lighted up like midnight skies

With the splendor of her eyes;

Her dainty feet, with sandals shod,

Scarce touched the ragged road she trod,

And a pearly scallop-shell

Gleamed her pilgrim state to tell.

Dully, long I strove to see

What that which bore her train could be;

Now on this side, now on that,

Now it met a chiding pat,

For resting on her skirts to impede,

Impishly, her upward speed,

From frowning cliff and wayside stone,

Flitting far, as bribes, it won

Blossoms fair and held before,

As her constancy to lure.

Graciously she marked its play;

Steadfastly she held her way.

Changed of mood, with tender gloom

It hung its garlands o’er a tomb.

Full in view thence reared its head,

Looked at me and beckoned,

Then, as if perforce, again

Fled and bore the lady’s train;

Thick my heart’s full throbs confess

“Surely that was Happiness!”

Panting, staring, faint, I stood,

Then with foot and tongue pursued;

“Sorceress, fiend—whate’er ye be—

Tear not thus my fere from me!

I defy the loathly charms

That keep him from his poor maid’s arms!

I will rend thy mask away!

I will give those charms to-day!”

My whirlwind race was won, and lo!

I tore it from her blushing brow,

My foster-sister’s, Holiness!

And her page was Happiness!

Oh, I owned her might too well!

Groveling in the dust I fell!

Then wondering heard a whisper low,

“Let’s be friends, my causeless foe.”

Doubtfully I raised my eyes;

Down she gazed with mild surprise.

Naught to fear I saw was there,

But purity and beauty rare.

As she raised me with a kiss,

Through her veil laughed Happiness.

When I slumber at her feet

Light pinions scatter odors sweet;

While her step keeps pace with mine

Round my neck soft fingers twine;

If I chase him, he is gone;

But the rogue returns anon,

Charged with heavenly fruit, to bless,

The handmaid meek of Holiness.