I FRAMED his tongue to music,
I armed his hand with skill,
I moulded his face to beauty

And his heart the throne of Will.

FOR every God

Obeys the hymn, obeys the ode.

FOR art, for music over-thrilled,

The wine-cup shakes, the wine is spilled.

HOLD of the Maker, not the Made;
Sit with the Cause, or grim or glad.

THAT book is good

Which puts me in a working mood.
Unless to Thought is added Will,
Apollo is an imbecile.

What parts, what gems, what colors shine,
Ah, but I miss the grand design.

LIKE vaulters in a circus round

Who leap from horse to horse, but never touch the ground.

FOR Genius made his cabin wide,
And Love led Gods therein to bide.

THE atom displaces all atoms beside,
And Genius unspheres all souls that abide.

To transmute crime to wisdom, so to stem
The vice of Japhet by the thought of Shem.

FORBORE the ant-hill, shunned to tread,
In mercy, on one little head.

I HAVE no brothers and no peers,
And the dearest interferes :
When I would spend a lonely day,
Sun and moon are in my way.

THE brook sings on, but sings in vain
Wanting the echo in my brain.

ON bravely through the sunshine and the showers! Time hath his work to do and we have ours.

HE planted where the deluge ploughed,
His hired hands were wind and cloud;
His eyes detect the Gods concealed
In the hummock of the field.

FOR what need I of book or priest,
Or sibyl from the mummied East,
When every star is Bethlehem star?
I count as many as there are
Cinquefoils or violets in the grass,
So many saints and saviours,
So many high behaviors
Salute the bard who is alive
And only sees what he doth give.

THOU shalt not try

To plant thy shrivelled pedantry

On the shoulders of the sky.

Ан, not to me those dreams belong! A better voice peals through my song.

TEACH me your mood, O patient stars!

Who climb each night the ancient sky, Leaving on space no shade, no scars, No trace of age, no fear to die.

THE Muse's hill by Fear is guarded,

A bolder foot is still rewarded.

His instant thought a poet spoke,
And filled the age his fame;

An inch of ground the lightning strook
But lit the sky with flame.

IF bright the sun, he tarries,
All day his song is heard;

And when he goes he carries

No more baggage than a bird.

THE Asmodean feat is mine,
To spin my sand-heap into twine.

SLIGHTED Minerva's learned tongue,
But leaped with joy when on the wind
The shell of Clio rung.

BEST boon of life is presence of a Muse
That does not wish to wander, comes by stealth,
Divulging to the heart she sets on flame
No popular tale or toy, no cheap renown.
When the wings grow that draw the gazing eye
Oft-times poor Genius fluttering near the earth
Is wrecked upon the turrets of the town;
But lifted till he meets the steadfast gales
Calm blowing from the everlasting West.

FRAGMENTS ON NATURE AND LIFE.

NATURE.

DAILY the bending skies solicit man,

The seasons chariot him from this exile,

The rainbow hours bedeck his glowing wheels, The storm-winds urge the heavy weeks along,

Suns haste to set, that so remoter lights

Beckon the wanderer to his vaster home.