Here cam'st thou in thy jocund

youthful time,

Here was thine height of strength,

thy golden prime!

And still the haunt beloved a virtue yields.

What though the music of thy rustic flute Kept not for long its happy, country tone;

Lost it too soon, and learnt a stormy

note

Of men contention-tost, of men who groan,

Which task'd thy pipe too sore, and tired thy throat

It fail'd, and thou wast mute! Yet hadst thou alway visions of our light,

And long with men of care thou

couldst not stay,

And soon thy foot resumed its wandering way,

Left human haunt, and on alone till night.

Too rare, too rare, grow now my visits here!

'Mid city-noise, not, as with thee of yore,

Thyrsis! in reach of sheep-bells is my home.

-Then through the great town's harsh,

heart-wearying roar,

Let in thy voice a whisper often come, To chase fatigue and fear: Why faintest thou? I wander'd till I died.

Roam on! The light we sought is shining still.

Dost thou ask proof? Our tree yet crowns the hill,

Our Scholar travels yet the loved hillside.

Dover Beach

THE sea is calm to-night,

The tide is full, the moon lies fair

Upon the straits;-on the French coast the light

Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,

Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.

Come to the window, sweet is the nightair!

Only, from the long line of spray Where the sea meets the moon-blanch'd land,

Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back,
and fling,

At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.

Sophocles long ago

Heard it on the Ægean, and it brought Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow Of human misery; we

Find also in the sound a thought, Hearing it by this distant northern sea. The Sea of Faith

Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore

Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furl'd. But now I only hear

Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, Retreating, to the breath

Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear

And naked shingles of the world.

Ah, love, let us be true

To one another! for the world, which

seems

To lie before us like a land of dreams, So various, so beautiful, so new,

Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,

Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;

And we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle

and flight,

Where ignorant armies clash by night.

Was like a little feather
Fluttering far down the gulf; and now
She spoke through the still weather.
Her voice was like the voice the stars
Had when they sang together.

(Ah sweet! Even now, in that bird's song,

Strove not her accents there, Fain to be hearkened? When those bells Possessed the mid-day air, Strove not her steps to reach my side

Down all the echoing stair?)

"I wish that he were come to me, For he will come," she said. "Have I not prayed in Heaven?—on earth,

Lord, Lord, has he not pray'd? Are not two prayers a perfect strength? And shall I feel afraid?

"When round his head the aureole clings, And he is clothed in white,

I'll take his hand and go with him

To the deep wells of light;
As unto a stream we will step down,
And bathe there in God's sight.

"We two will stand beside that shrine, Occult, withheld, untrod,

Whose lamps are stirred continually With prayer sent up to God;

And see our old prayers, granted, melt Each like a little cloud.

"We two will lie i' the shadow of

That living mystic tree

Within whose secret growth the Dove

Is sometimes felt to be,

While every leaf that His plumes touch

Saith His Name audibly.

"And I myself will teach to him,

I myself, lying so,

The songs I sing here; which his voice

Shall pause in, hushed and slow, And find some knowledge at each pause, Or some new thing to know."

(Alas! We two, we two, thou say'st!

Yea, one wast thou with me

That once of old. But shall God lift To endless unity

The soul whose likeness with thy soul Was but its love for thee?)

"We two," she said, "will seek the groves

Where the lady Mary is,

With her five handmaidens, whose names
Are five sweet symphonies,
Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen,
Margaret and Rosalys.

"Circlewise sit they, with bound locks

And foreheads garlanded;
Into the fine cloth white like flame

Weaving the golden thread,
To fashion the birth-robes for them
Who are just born, being dead.

"He shall fear, haply, and be dumb:

Then will I lay my cheek To his, and tell about our love, Not once abashed or weak: And the dear Mother will approve My pride, and let me speak. "Herself shall bring us, hand in hand, To Him round whom all souls

"WHY did you melt your waxed man, Sister Helen?

To-day is the third since you began." "The time was long, yet the time ran, Little brother."

(0 Mother, Mary Mother, Three days to-day, between Hell and Heaven!)

"But if you have done your work aright, Sister Helen,

You'll let me play, for you said I might." "Be very still in your play to-night, Little brother."

(0 Mother, Mary Mother,

Third night, to-night, between Hell and Heaven!)

"You said it must melt ere vesper-bell, Sister Helen;

If now it be molten, all is well."

"Even so,-nay, peace! you cannot tell, Little brother."

(O Mother, Mary Mother,

O what is this, between Hell and Heaven?)

"Oh the waxen knave was plump to-day, Sister Helen;

How like dead folk he has dropped away!"

"Nay now, of the dead what can you say, Little brother?"

(0 Mother, Mary Mother, What of the dead, between Hell and Heaven?)

"See, see, the sunken pile of wood, Sister Helen,

Shines through the thinned wax red as blood!"

"Nay now, when looked you yet on blood, Little brother?"

(O Mother, Mary Mother,

How pale she is, between Hell and Heaven!)

"Now close your eyes, for they're sick and

(O Mother, Mary Mother, What sound to-night, between Hell and Heaven?)

"I hear a horse-tread, and I see, Sister Helen, Three horsemen that ride terribly." "Little brother, whence come the three, Little brother?"

(O Mother, Mary Mother, Whence should they come, between Hell and Heaven?)

"They come by the hill-verge from Boyne Bar, Sister Helen,

And one draws nigh, but two are afar." "Look, look, do you know them who they

are,

Little brother?"

(O Mother, Mary Mother, Who should they be, between Hell and Heaven?)

"Oh, it's Keith of Eastholm rides so fast, Sister Helen,

For I know the white mane on the blast." "The hour has come, has come at last, Little brother!"

(O Mother, Mary Mother, Her hour at last, between Hell and Heaven!)

"He has made a sign and called Halloo! Sister Helen,

And he says that he would speak with you."

"Oh tell him I fear the frozen dew, Little brother."

(O Mother, Mary Mother, Why laughs she thus, between Hell and Heaven?)

"The wind is loud, but I hear him cry,
Sister Helen,
That Keith of Ewern's like to die."
"And he and thou, and thou and I,

Little brother."

(O Mother, Mary Mother, And they and we, between Hell and Heaven!)