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What is that to him that reaps not harvest of his | Droops the heavy-blossomed bower, hangs the youthful joys, heavy-fruited tree, Though the deep heart of existence beat forever Summerisles of Eden lying in dark-purple spheres like a boy's? of sea.

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers; and I There, methinks, would be enjoyment more than linger on the shore, in this march of mind

And the individual withers, and the world is more In the steamship, in the railway, in the thoughts that shake mankind.

and more.

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and he There the passions, cramped no longer, shall have bears a laden breast, scope and breathing-space ; will take some savage woman, she shall rear my dusky race.

Full of sad experience moving toward the still-I

ness of his rest.

Hark! my merry comrades call me, sounding on Iron-jointed, supple-sinewed, they shall dive, and the bugle horn, they shall run, They to whom my foolish passion were a target Catch the wild goat by the hair, and hurl their for their scorn; lances in the sun,

Shall it not be scorn to me to harp on such a Whistle back the parrot's call, and leap the rainmouldered string? bows of the brooks,

I am shamed through all my nature to have loved Not with blinded eyesight poring over miserable so slight a thing. books

Weakness to be wroth with weakness! woman's Fool, again the dream, the fancy! but I know my pleasure, woman's pain — words are wild,

Nature made them blinder motions bounded in a But I count the gray barbarian lower than the shallower brain; Christian child.

Woman is the lesser man, and all thy passions, I, to herd with narrow foreheads, vacant of our matched with mine, glorious gains,

Are as moonlight unto sunlight, and as water Like a beast with lower pleasures, like a beast unto winewith lower pains!

Here at least, where nature sickens, nothing. Ah Mated with a squalid savage, what to me were for some retreat sun or clime? Deep in yonder shining Orient, where my life I, the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of began to beat! time,

Where in wild Mahratta-battle fell my father, I, that rather held it better men should perish evil-starred; one by one,

I was left a trampled orphan, and a selfish uncle's Than that earth should stand at gaze like Joshua's ward. moon in Ajalon!

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Or to burst all links of habit, there to wander Not in vain the distance beacons. Forward, far away, forward let us range;

On from island unto island at the gateways of the Let the great world spin forever down the ringing grooves of change.

day,

Larger constellations burning, mellow moons and Through the shadow of the globe we sweep into happy skies, the younger day: Breadths of tropic shade and palms in cluster, Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of knots of Paradise.

Cathay.

Never comes the trader, never floats an European Mother-age, (for mine I knew not,) help me as flag, when life begun, Slides the bird o'er lustrous woodland, swings the Rift the hills, and roll the waters, flash the lighttrailer from the crag, nings, weigh the sun,

0, I see the crescent promise of my spirit hath | O, had he whispered, when his sweetest kiss not set; Was warm upon my mouth in fancied bliss, Ancient founts of inspiration well through all my He had kissed another woman even as this, fancy yet. It were less bitter! Sometimes I could weep Howsoever these things be, a long farewell to To be thus cheated, like a child asleep; Locksley Hall!

Now for me the woods may wither, now for me the roof-tree fall.

Were not my anguish far too dry and deep.

So I built my house upon another's ground;
Mocked with a heart just caught at the rebound,

Comes a vapor from the margin, blackening over A cankered thing that looked so firm and sound.

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BUT Enoch yearned to see her face again; "If I might look on her sweet face again And know that she is happy." So the thought Haunted and harassed him, and drove him forth At evening when the dull November day Was growing duller twilight, to the hill. There he sat down gazing on all below: There did a thousand memories roll upon him, Unspeakable for sadness. By and by The ruddy square of comfortable light, Far-blazing from the rear of Philip's house, Allured him, as the beacon-blaze allures The bird of passage, till he madly strikes Against it, and beats out his weary life.

For Philip's dwelling fronted on the street, The latest house to landward; but behind, With one small gate that opened on the waste, Flourished a little garden square and walled: And in it throve an ancient evergreen, A yewtree, and all round it ran a walk Of shingle, and a walk divided it :

But Enoch shunned the middle walk and stole

Up by the wall, behind the yew; and thence That which he better might have shunned, if griefs

Like his have worse or better, Enoch saw.

For cups and silver on the burnished board
Sparkled and shone; so genial was the hearth;
And on the right hand of the hearth he saw
Philip, the slighted suitor of old times,
Stout, rosy, with his babe across his knees;
And o'er her second father stoopt a girl,
A later but a loftier Annie Lee,
Fair-haired and tall, and from her lifted hand
Dangled a length of ribbon and a ring

To tempt the babe, who reared his creasy arms,
Caught at and ever missed it, and they laughed :
And on the left hand of the hearth he saw
The mother glancing often toward her babe,
But turning now and then to speak with him,
Her son, who stood beside her tall and strong,
And saying that which pleased him, for he smiled.

Now when the dead man come to life beheld
His wife his wife no more, and saw the babe
Hers, yet not his, upon the father's knee,
And all the warmth, the peace, the happiness,
And his own children tall and beautiful,
And him, that other, reigning in his place,
Lord of his rights and of his children's love, -
Then he, though Miriam Lane had told him all,
Because things seen are mightier than things heard,
Staggered and shook, holding the branch, and
feared

To send abroad a shrill and terrible cry,
Which in one moment, like the blast of doom,
Would shatter all the happiness of the hearth.

He therefore turning softly like a thief, Lest the harsh shingle should grate underfoot, And feeling all along the garden-wall, Lest he should swoon and tumble and be found, Crept to the gate, and opened it, and closed, As lightly as a sick man's chamber-door, Behind him, and came out upon the waste.

And there he would have knelt, but that his knees

Were feeble, so that falling prone he dug
His fingers into the wet earth, and prayed.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM.

O THE days are gone when beauty bright
My heart's chain wove!

When my dream of life, from morn till night,
Was love, still love!

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