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With growth of shadowing leaf and clus- | To carry through the world those waves, ters rare,

which bore Reacheth to every corner under heaven, The reflex of my city in their depth. Deep-rooted in the living soil of truth; 10 city! O latest throne! where I was So that men's hopes and fears take refuge in

raised The fragrance of its complicated glooms, To be a mystery of loveliness And cool impeachéd twilights. Child of Unto all eyes, the time is wellnigh come man,

When I must render up this glorious home Seest thou yon river, whose translucent To keen Discovery ; soon yon brilliant wave,

towers Forth issuing from the darkness, windeth Shall darken with the waving of herwand ; through

Darken and shrink and shiver into huts, The argent streets o' the city, imaging Black specks amid a waste of dreary sand, The soft inversion of hertremulous domes, Low-built, mud-walled, barbarian settleHer gardens frequent with the stately ments. palm,

How changed from this fair city!" Her pagods hung with music of sweet bells,

Thus far the Spirit : Her obelisks of rangéd chrysolite, T'hen parted heavenward on the wing : Minarets and towers ? Lo ! how he pass

and I eth by,

Was left alone on Calpe, and the moon And gulfs himself in sands, as not en- Had fallen from the night, and all was during

dark !




| The ancient poetess singeth that Hespe

rus all things bringeth, LOW-FLOWING breezes are roaming the Smoothing the wearied mind : bring me broad valley dimmed in the gloam

my love, Rosalind. ing:

Thou comest morning and even; she comThro' the black-stemmed pines only the eth not morning or even. far river shines.

False-eyed Hesper, unkind, where is my Creeping through blossomy rushes and sweet Rosalind ?

bowers of rose-blowing bushes, Down by the poplar tall rivulets babble and fali.

THE “HOW” AND THE “WHY." Barketh the shepherd-dog cheerly ; the

grasshopper carolleth clearly ; Deeply the turtle cooes; shrilly the owlet halloos ;

I AM any man's suitor, Winds creep : dews fall chilly : in her first If any will be my tutor : sleep earth breathes stilly :

Some say this life is pleasant, Over the pools in the burn watergnats

Some think it speedeth fast, murmur and mourn.

In time there is no present, Sadly the far kine loweth : the glimmer In eternity no future, ing water outfloweth :

In eternity no past. Twin peaks shadowed with pine slope to We laugh, we cry, we are born, we die, the dark hyaline.

Who will riddle me the how and the Low-throned Hesper is stayéd between

why? the two peaks ; but the Naiad Throbbing in wild unrest holds him be. The bulrush nods unto its brother. neath in her breast.

| The wheatears whisper to each other :


What is it they say? what do they there?, While I do pray to thee alone, Why two and two make four ? why round Think my belief would stronger grow ! is not square ?

Is not my human pride brought low ? Why the rock stands still, and the light The boastings of my spirit still ? clouds fly?

The joy I had in my free will Why the heavy oak groans, and the white All cold, and dead, and corpse-like grown? willows sigh ?

And what is left to me, but thou, Why deepis not high, and high is not deep? And faith in thee? Men pass me by; Whether we wake, or whether we sleep? Christians with happy countenances — Whether we sleep, or whether we die? And children all seem full of thee ! How you are you? why I am I?

And women smile with saintlike glances Who will riddle me the how and the why? Like thine own mother's when she bowed

Above thee, on that happy morn The world is somewhat; it goes on some- When angels spake to men aloud, how :

And thon and peace to earth were born. But what is the meaning of then and now ? Goodwill to me as well as all — I feel there is something; but how - I one of them : my brothers they : and what ?

Brothers in Christ -- a world of peace I know there is soinewhat : but what and And confidence, day after day ; why?

And trust and hope till things should I cannot tell if that somewhat be I.

cease, The little bird pipeth - "why? why?". And then one Heaven receive us all. In the summer woods when the sun falls

How sweet to have a common faith! And the great bird sits on the opposite To hold a common scorn of death ! bough,

And at a burial to hear And stares in his face, and shouts “how? The creaking cords which wound and eat how ?"

Into my human heart, whene'er And the black owl scuds down the mel. Earth goes to earth, with grief, not fear, low twilight,

With hopefulgrief, were passing sweet ! And chants “how? how ?" the whole A grief not uninformed, and dull, of the night.

| Hearted with hope, of hope as full

As is the blood with life, or night Why the life goes when the blood is spilt? And a dark cloud with rich moonlight.

What the life is ? where the soulmay lie? To stand beside a grave, and see Why a church is with a steeple built: The red small atoms wherewith we And a house with a chimney-pot? Are built, and smile in calm, and says Who will riddleme the how and the what? “ These little motes and grains shall be Who will riddle me the what and the Clothed on with immortality why?

More glorious than the noon of day.

All that is pass'd into the flowers,

And into beasts and other men, SUPPOSED CONFESSIONS

And all the Norland whirlwind showers OF A SECOND-RATE SENSITIVE MIND NOT

From open vaults, and all the sea

O’erwashes with sharp salts, again

Shall fleet together all, and be
O Gop! my God ! have mercy now. Indued with immortality."
I faint, I fall. Men say that thou
Didst die for me, for such as me, Thrice happy state again to be
Patient of ill, and death, and scorn, | The trustful infant on the knee !
And that my sin was as a thorn

Who lets his waxen fingers play
Among the thorns that girt thy brow, About his mother's neck, and knows
Wounding thy soul. — That even now, Nothing beyond his mother's eyes.
In this extremest misery

They comfort him by night and day, Of ignorance, I should require

They light his little life alway; A sign ! and if a bolt of fire

He hath no thought of coming woes; Would rive the slumberous summer noon He hath no care of life or death,

Scarce outward signs of joy arise, 1 “Bring this lainb back into thy fold, Because the Spirit of happiness

My Lord, if so it be thy will." And perfect rest so inward is ;

Wouldst tell me I must brook the rod, And loveth so his innocent heart, And chastisement of human pride ; Her temple and her place of birth, That pride, the sin of devils, stood Where she would ever wish to dwell, Betwixt me and the light of God ! Life of the fountain there, beneath That hitherto I had defied, Its salient springs, and far apart, And had rejected God – that Grace Hating to wander out on earth,

Would drop from his o'erbrimming love, Or breathe into the hollow air,

As manna on my wilderness, Whose chillness would make visible If I would pray — that God would move Her subtile, warm, and golden breath, And strike the hard, hard rock, and Which mixing with the infant's blood,

thence, Full tills him with beatitude.

Sweet in their utmost bitterness, Oh ! sure it is a special care

Would issue tears of penitence Of God, to fortify from doubt,

Which would keep green hope's life. To arm in proof, and guard about

Alas ! With triple mailed trust, and clear I think that pride hath now no place Delight, the infant's dawning year. | Or sojourn in me. I am void, Would that my gloomed fancy were Dark, formless, utterly destroyed. As thine, my mother, when with brows Propped on thy knees, my hands upheld Why not believe then? Why not yet In thine, I listened to thy vows,

Anchor thy frailty there, where man For me outpoured in holiest prayer – Hath moored and rested ? Ask the sea For me unworthy! - and beheld At midnight, when the crisp slope waves The mild deep eyes upraised, that knew After a tempest, rib and fret The beauty and repose of faith,

The broad-imbaséd beach, why he And the clear spirit shining through. Slumbers not like a mountain tarn ? Oh! wherefore do we grow awry

Wherefore his ridges are not curls From roots which strikeso deep? why dare And ripples of an inland meer ? Paths in the desert ? Could not I Wherefore he moaneth thus, nor can Bow myself down, where thou hast knelt, Draw down into his vexéd pools To th' earth – until the ice would melt | All that blue heaven which hues and paves Here, and I feel as thou hast felt ? The other? I am too forlorn, What Devil had the heart to scathe Too shaken : my own weakness fools Flowers thou hadst reared -- to brush the My judgment, and my spirit whirls,

Moved from beneath with doubt and fear. From thine own lily, when thy grave Was deep, my mother, in the clay ? “ Yet,” said I, in my morn of youth, Myself? Is it thus? Myself ? Had I The unsunned freshness of my strength, So little love for thee? But why When I went forth in quest of truth, Prevailed not thy pure prayers? Why pray “It is man's privilege to doubt, To one who heeds not, who can save If so be that from doubt at length, But will not? Great in faith, and strong | Truth may stand forth unmoved of change Against the grief of circumstance | An image with profulgent brows, Wert thou, and yet unheard? What if And perfect limbs, as from the storm Thou pleadest still, and seest me drive Of running fires and fluid range Through utter dark a full-sailed skiff, Of lawless airs at last stood out Unpiloted i' the echoing dance

This excellence and solid form
Of reboant whirlwinds, stooping low Of constant beauty. For the Ox
Unto the death, not sunk ! I know Feeds in the herb, and sleeps, or fills
At matins and at evensong,

The hornéd valleys all about,
That thou, if thou wert yet alive, And hollows of the fringed hills
In deep and daily prayers wouldst strive In summerheats, with placid lows
To reconcile me with thy God.

Unfearing, till his own blood flows
Albeit, my hope is gray, and cold | About his hoof. And in the flocks
At heart, thou wouldest murmur still — The lamb rejoiceth in the year,

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And raceth freely with his fere, | The cruellest form of perfect scorn,
And answers to his mother's calls

With languor of most hateful smiles, From the flowered furrow. In a time,

For ever write, Of which he wots not, run short pains

In the withered light Through his warm heart: and then, from Of the tearless eye, whence

An epitaph that all may spy ? He knows not, on his light there falls No! sooner she herself shall die. A shadow ; and his native slope Where he was wont to leap and climb,

For her the showers shall not fall, Floats from his sick and filmed eyes,

Northe round sunshine that shineth toall; And something in the darkness draws

Her light shall into darkness change ; His forehead earthward, and he dies.

For her the green grass shall not spring, Shall men live thus, in joy and hope

Nor the rivers flow, nor the sweet birds As a young lamb, who cannot dream,

sing, Living, but that he shall live on ?

Till Love have his full revenge.
Shall we not look into the laws
Of life and death, and things that seem,

And things that be, and analyze
Our double nature, and compare

SAINTED Juliet ! dearest name! All creeds till we have found the one,

If to love be life alone, If one there be ?" Ay ine! I fear

Divinest Juliet, All may not doubt, but everywhere

I love thee, and live; and yet Some must clasp Idols. Yet, my God, Whom call I Idol ? Let thy dove

Love unreturned is like the fragrant Shadow me over, and my sins

Folding the slaughter of the sacrifice Be unremembered, and thy love

Offered togods upon an altar-throne; Enlighten me. O teach me yet

My heart is lighted at thine eyes, Somewhat before the heavy clod

Changed into fire, and blown about with Weighs on me, and the busy fret

Of that sharp-headed worm begins
In the gross blackness underneath.

O weary life! O weary death !
O spirit and heart made desolate !
O damnéd vacillating state !

I'THE glooming light
Of middle night

So cold and white,
THE BURIAL OF LOVE. Worn Sorrow sits by the moaning wave,

Beside her are laid
His eyes in eclipse,

Her mattock and spade,
Pale-cold his lips,

For she hath half delved her own deep
The light of his hopes unfed,

Mute his tongue,

Alone she is there :
His bow unstrung

The white clouds drizzle : her hair falls With the tears he hath shed,

loose : Backward drooping his graceful head,

Her shoulders are bare ; Love is dead :

Her tears are mixed with the beaded
His last arrow is sped ;

He hath not another dart ;
Go - carry him to his dark deathbed ;
Bury him in the cold, cold heart --

Death standeth by ;
Love is dead.

She will not die ;

With glazéd eye O truest love! art thou forlorn,

She looks at hergrave: she cannot sleep; And unrevenged? thy pleasant wiles

Ever alone
Forgotten, and thine innocent joy?

She maketh her moan :
Shall hollow-hearted apathy,

She cannot speak : she can only weep,


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