And yet unwittingly, in truth,

They made his careless words their law.

They knew not how he learned at all,
For idly, hour by hour,

He sat and watched the dead leaves fall,
Or mused upon a common flower.

It seemed the loveliness of things
Did teach him all their use,

For, in mere weeds, and stones, and springs,
He found a healing power profuse.

Men granted that his speech was wise,
But, when a glance they caught
Of his slim grace and woman's eyes,

They laughed, and called him good-for-naught.

Yet after he was dead and gone,

And e'en his memory dim,

Earth seemed more sweet to live upon,

More full of love, because of him.

And day by day more holy grew
Each spot where he had trod,
Till after-poets only knew
Their firstborn brother as a god.

James Russell Lowell.

Zacynthus (Zante).

TO ZANTE.

AIR isle, that from the fairest of all flowers,

FAIR

Thy gentlest of all gentle names dost take!
How many memories of what radiant hours
At sight of thee and thine at once awake!
How many scenes of what departed bliss!
How many thoughts of what entombéd hopes!
How many visions of a maiden that is

No more,

—no more upon thy verdant slopes! No more! alas, that magical, sad sound

Transforming all! Thy charms shall please no more, Thy memory no more! Accurséd ground

Henceforth I hold thy flower-enamelled shore,

O hyacinthine isle! O purple Zante!

TURKEY IN EUROPE,

AND THE PRINCIPALITIES.