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So reaches he the latter stage
With feeble step and slow;
That all is vanity below;
Its idle hopes are o'er,
The days that are no more.
R. F. HOUSMAN.
A SPIRIT, golden-haired, upon the side
Of a dark willow-shaded streamlet lay;
And silently that spirit watched them glide.
And virgin lilies, with the budding spray
And gently cast them on the peaceful tide.
there, O'er the smooth marge of that sequestered brook,
The faithful spirit hung-in all, the same, Save that his blue eyes wore a milder look,
And on his brow there dwelt a chastened air.
THE LOST STAR.
L. E. LANDON.
A Light is gone from yonder sky,
A star has left its sphere; The beautiful--and do they die
In yon bright world, as here?
A darkness on the night?
And none think heaven less bright!
What wert thou star of, vanished one?
What mystery was thine ?
What was thy sway and sign?
And is it then for thee,
So early cease to be?
Of hope ?--and was it to express
How soon hope sinks in shade?
In sign how it will fade?
In music to the last,
And then for ever past?
Or didst thou sink as stars whose light
The fair moon renders vain ?
Thou didst not shine again.
The first great curse was hurled,
Star of our early world?
Forgotten and departed star!
A thousand glories shine
Who then remembers thine ?
Dreams over beauty gone,
Reads what will be his own.
Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean-roll!
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown.
The armaments which thunder-strike the walls -
They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar Alike the Armada's pride or spoils of Trafalgar.
Thy shores are empires, changed in all save
theeAssyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are
they ? Thy waters wasted them while they were free, And many a tyrant since; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts :--not so thou, Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play
Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.
Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form
The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless,
On, beautiful is youth!
How often, as it passes by,
With flowing limbs, and flashing eye, With soul that not a care has crossed, With cheek that not a tint has lost;
How often in my heart I cry, How beautiful is youth!
Sweet youth! sweet youth! no need
Hast thou of such a mould,
Of such an air as sculptors old, On god, or goddess cast,—that thrilled With life, with thought; with beauty filled!
In simplest form thy power is shown Thou sweet—almighty youth !
Oh generous youth! thy gifts,
How freely are they thrown!
What humble creature has not known The radiant eye's all-liquid light: The skin's pure freshness, soft and bright;
The glittering locks, the joyous tone? Oh happy, happy youth !
And yet thou art to me
A melancholy sound !