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GRAY HAIR IN YOUTH.

What does youth with silvered crown?
Snows of winter come not down
Till the frost hath made its

way,
And the night outmeasured day;
Till the harvest all is stored,
And the cordial vintage poured
That can heavy memories drown.
What does youth with silvered crown?

Passion's fires have burned apace,
Laying waste the summer's grace,
Than the frost more cruel keen,
Making youth as age be seen,
Save
upon

his silken hairs
Ashes white, not snow, he bears,
Mournful frame for morning face!
Passion's fires have burned apace.

PONCE DE LEON.

You that crossed the ocean old,
Not from greed of Inca's gold,
But to search by vale and mount,
Wood and rock, the wizard fount
Where Time's harm is well undone,
Here's to Ponce de Leon,
And your liegemen every one !
Surely, still beneath the sun,
In some region further west,
You live on and have your rest,
While the world goes spinning round,
And the sky hears the resound
Of a thousand shrill new fames,
Which your jovial silence shames !
Strength and joy your days endow,
Youth's eyes glow beneath your brow;
Wars and vigils are forgot,
And the Scytheman threats you not.
Tell us, of your knightly grace,
Tell
us,
left

you not some trace Leading to that wellspring true Where old souls their age renew ?

THE HEART UPON THE SLEEVE.

WHAT, noble masters, all amort?
Why will

ye

be the mob-world's sport, And let each knave his weapon pick Wherewith to stab ye to the quick!

Lo! arms and charms ye do not lack
(If arms and charms could save from wrack),
Nor any point of crafty art
To triple fence and guard the heart !

ye are scathed;

Yet

unhurt am I,
Though to attack I open lie :
All nude of corselet, casque, or greave,
I wear my

heart

upon my sleeve!

Since on the day Truth's lips I kissed,
No hest of hers could I resist;
She turns and winds me at her will,
Her lips set mine the copy still.

She will not let me doubt or shrink
To roundly speak what I must think ;
She lays this charge upon my skill,
To part entwining Good and Ill.

38

THE HEART UPON THE SLEEVE.

My heart upon my sleeve I wear, And all who see may read it there; “That poor, plain thing, a heart ? ” they cry, And subtle-minded pass it by.

I laugh, I sigh, I praise, I chide,
With moods of mirth and sadness pied;
They call me, then, chameleon elf
That hath no color of himself.

But some, suspecting artifice,
The life they seek to take still miss,
Since all the deeper they may smite,
I bear my heart more high and light !

They think I case my bosom frail
With woven links of hidden mail ;
The simple truth will none believe,

heart

upon my sleeve!

I wear my

Still, noble masters, all amort?
Your shields, your plates of proof, fall short;
But wear the heart upon the sleeve,
And not a dint shall it receive !

THE PALMER.

Thou who wouldst a palmer be,
Let thy faith suffice to thee.
Say not, “I to-morrow will
Get beyond the sunrise hill,
Pass the sea, and cross the sand
Till I come to Holy Land,
And beneath the lamps that glow
In the shrine my heart I show,
Leave my gift and round my vow,
Bearing thence the victor bough."

Say not this, nor take in hand
Staff and scrip for Holy Land.
Thou be wiser than the rest
Who have bound them to the quest;
Breathe thy vow and waft thy gift,
Single heart to heaven lift;
Here remain if thou wouldst be
Palmer in all verity:
Know thy faith doth brighter shine
Than the lamps within the shrine.

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