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Kind hearts and true,
Gentle and just,
Peace to your dust!
We sing round the tree.
Care, like a dun,
Lurks at the gate:
Let the dog wait;
Happy we'll be !
Drink, every one;
Pile up the coals;
Fill the red bowls,
Round the old tree !
Drain we the cup.
Friend, art afraid?
Spirits are laid
In the Red Sea.
Mantle it up;
Empty it yet;
Let us forget,
Round the old tree !
Life and its ills,
Duns and their bills,
Bid we to flee.
Come with the dawn,
Leave us to-night,
Round the old tree!
1811-1887. [BORN at Camberwell Grove, Surrey, May 20, 1811. Entered Cambridge in 1829, as a member of St. John's College, but after three years' residence left the university without graduating.lu 1832 he published a volume of poems.
Travelled in America for two years; after his return contributed some poems to Blackwood's Magazine. One of these, A Christmas Hymn, was greatly admired, and has been frequently reprinted. Went to New Zealand in 1842, where he became Colonial Secretary, Secretary for Crown Lands, and held various other important positions in the government of that colony. Returned to England in 1871. Since his return has published a volume of poems, Flotsam and Jetsam, Rhymes, Old and New, 1877. He also published in 1872, Ranolf and Amohia, a South Sea Dream.]
Å CHRISTMAS HYMN. It was the calm and silent night! No sound was heard of clashing wars
Seven hundred years and fifty-three Peace brooded o'er the hush'd Had Rome been growing up to might,
Held undisturb’d their ancient reign, 0, strange indifference! low and high In the solemn midnight,
common joys and Centuries ago.
The earth was still -- but knew not Twas in the calm and silent night!
why The senator of haughty Rome,
The world was listening, unawares. Impatient, urged his chariot's flight, How calm a moment may precede From lordly revel rolling home;
One that shall thrill the world for Triumphal arches, gleaming, swell
ever! His breast with thoughts of bound- To that still moment, none would heed,
Man's doom was link'd no more to
In the solemn midnight
It is the calm and solemn night!
now! Across his path. He pass'd - for The night that erst no shame had worn, naught
To it a happy name is given; Told what was going on within; For in that stable lay, new-born, How keen the stars, his only thought The peaceful Prince of earth and The air how calm, and cold, and thin,
In the solemn midnight,
1812-1889. (ROBERT BROWNING, one of the most distinguished of modern English poets, was born in Çamberwell, near London, in 1812. In 1835 he published Paracelsus, which was favorably received, and in 1837 produced Strafford, a tragedy, in which Mr. Macready the actor personated the hero. Among his other works are Şordello, 1840; Pippa Passes; A Blot in the Scutcheon, 1843; King Victor
and King Charles; Return of the Druses; Dramatic Lyrics; Men and Women, 1855: The Soul's Errand, 1864; The Ring and the Book, 1869; Dramatic Idyls, 1879; Fifine at the Fair, 1872; Red Cotton Nightcaps, 1873; and Focoseria, 1883. In Nov., 1846, he married Miss Elizabeth Barrett, the distinguished poet, and after his marriage he resided for some year in Italy, chiefly at Florence, making occasional visits to France and England. The second edi. tion, enlarged, of a Bibliography of Robert Browning from 1833 to 1881, compiled by Frederick J. Furnivall, was published at London in 1882. His poetry, although difficult to be understood, has many admirers.) HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX. I SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris, and Speed !” echoed the wall to us gal. he;
loping through; I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped Behind shut the postern, the lights sank
all three; "Good speed ! ” cried the watch, as the And into the midnight we galloped gate-bolts undrew;
Not a word to each other; we kept the | By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried great pace
Joris, “ Stay spur ! Neck by neck, stride by stride, never Your Ross galloped bravely, the fault's changing our place;
not in her, I turned in my saddle and made its We'll remember at Aix" for one heard girths tight,
the quick wheeze Then shortened each stirrup, and set Of her chest, saw her stretched neck and the pique right,
staggeri knees, Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained And sunk tail, and horrible heave of slacker the bit,
the flank, Nor galloped less steadily Roland a As down on her haunches she shud. whit.
dered and sank.
Twas moonset at starting; but while
we drew near Lokeren, the cocks crew, and twilight
dawned clear; At Boom, a great yellow star came out
to see; At Düffeld, 'twas morning as plain as
could be; And from Mecheln church-steeple we
heard the half chime, So Joris broke silence with “Yet there
So we were left galloping, Joris and I,
in the sky;
laugh, 'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright
stubble like chaff; Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang
white, And “Gallop" gasped Joris, “ for Aix
is in sight!”
At Aerschot, up leaped of a sudden the “ How they'll greet us !” and all in a
moment his roan sun, And against him the cattle stood black
Rolled neck and crop over; lay dead as every one,
a stone; To stare through the mist at us gallop. And there was my Roland to bear the ing past,
whole weight And I saw my stout galloper Roland at Of the news which alone could save Aix last,
from her fate, With resolute shoulders, each butting With his nostrils like pits full of blood
to the brim, away The haze, as some bluff river headland
And with circles of red for his eye
And his low head and crest, just one
sharp ear bent back For my voice, and the other pricked out
on his track; And one eye's black intelligence — ever
that glance O'er its white edge at me, his own mas
ter, askance! And the thick heavy spume-flakes which
aye and anon His fierce lips shook upwards in gallop
Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each
holster let fall, Shook off both my jack-boots, let go
belt and all, Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted Called my Roland his pet-name, my
horse without peer; Clapped my hands, laughed and sang,
any noise, bad or good, Till at length into Aix Roland galloped
And all I remember is, friends flocking And such plenty and perfection, see,
round As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees
Never was! on the ground,
Such a carpet as, this summer-time, And no voice but was praising this Ro- o'er-spreads land of mine,
And embeds As I poured down his throat' our last Every vestige of the city, guessed alone, measure of wine,
Stock or stone Which (the burgesses voted by common Where a multitude of men breathed joy consent)
and woe Was no more than his due who brought
Long ago; good news from Ghent.
Lust of glory pricked their hearts uf,
dread of shame
Struck them tame;
the gold LOVE AMONG THE RUINS.
Bought and sold.
WHERE the quiet-colored end of even- Now,- the single little turret that reing smiles,
mains Miles and miles,
On the plains, On the solitary pastures where our sheep By the caper overrooted, by the gourd Half-asleep
Overscored, Tinkle homeward through the twilight, While the patching houseleek's head stray or stop
of blossom winks As they crop
Through the chinks Was the site once of a city great and gay Marks the basement whence a tower in (So they say),
ancient time Of our country's very capital, its prince,
And a burning ring, all round, the Held his court in, gathered councils,
As they raced,
And the monarch and his minions and
Viewed the games.
And I know — while thus the quietTo distinguish slopes of verdure, certain
Smiles to leave
To their folding, all our many tinkling Intersect and give a name to (else they
In such peace,
shot its spires
Up like fires
nor be pressed,
And the slopes and rills in undistin
guished gray That a girl with eager eyes and yellow
Waits me there
For the goal,
When the king looked, where she looks The shutters are shut, no light may now, breathless, dumb
pass, Till I come.
Save two long rays through the hinge's
chink. But he looked upon the city, every side, Far and wide,
Sixteen years old when she died !
all the glades
It was not her time to love: beside, All the causeys, bridges, aqueducts, - Her life had many a hope and aim, and then,
Duties enough and little cares,
And now was quiet, now astir — When I do come, she will speak not, Till God's hand beckoned unawares, she will stand,
And the sweet white brow is all of Either hand
Is it too late, then, Evelyn Hope?
What, your soul was pure and true, Ere we rush, ere we extinguish sight The good stars met in your horoscope, and speech
Made you of spirit, fire, and dew – Each on each.
And just because I was thrice as old,
And our paths in the world diverged In one year they sent a million fight
Each was nought to each, must I be South and North,
told? And they built their gods a brazen pil
We were fellow-mortals, nought be. lar high
side? As the sky, Yet reserved a thousand chariots in full
No, indeed! for God above force
Is great to grant, as mighty to make, Gold, of course.
And creates the love to reward the O heart! O blood that freezes, blood
love, that burns !
I claim you still, for my own love's Earth's returns
sake! For whole centuries of folly, noise and Delayed it may be for more lives yet, sin!
Through worlds I shall traverse, not Shut them in,
a few With their triumphs and their glories | Much is to learn and much to forget and the rest!
Ere the time be come for taking you Love is best.
But the time will come, at last it will,
When, Evelyn Hope, what meant, I EVELYN HOPE.
In the lower earth, in the years long
still, BEAUTIFUL Evelyn Hope is dead – That body and soul so pure and gay?
Sit and watch by her side an hour, Why your hair was amber, I shall divine, That is her book-shelf, this her bed; And your mouth of your own geraShe plucked that piece of geranium
nium's red flower,
And what you would do with me, in fine, Beginning to die, too, in the glass.
In the new life come in the old one's Little has yet been changed,