They lingering dropped and dropped

again,

Till it was almost like a pain

To listen when the next would be.

1840.

SONG.

TO M. L.

A LILY thou wast when I saw thee first, A lily-bud not opened quite,

That hourly grew more pure and white,

By morning, and noontide, and evening nursed:

In all of nature thou hadst thy share ;
Thou wast waited on

By the wind and sun;

The rain and the dew for thee took care; It seemed thou never couldst be more fair.

A lily thou wast when I saw thee first, A lily-bud; but O, how strange, How full of wonder was the change, When, ripe with all sweetness, thy full bloom burst!

How did the tears to my glad eyes start, When the woman-flower Reached its blossoming hour, And I saw the warm deeps of thy golden heart!

Glad death may pluck thee, but never before

The gold dust of thy bloom divine Hath dropped from thy heart into mine,

To quicken its faint germs of heavenly

lore;

Thou Hebe, who thy heart's bright wine
So lavishly to all dost pour,
That we who drink forget to pine,

And can but dream of bliss in store.

Thou canst not see a shade in life;
With sunward instinct thou dost rise,
And, leaving clouds below at strife,
Gazest undazzled at the skies,
With all their blazing splendors rife,
A songful lark with eagle's eyes.

Thou wast some foundling whom the
Hours

Nursed, laughing, with the milk of
Mirth;

Some influence more gay than ours
Hath ruled thy nature from its birth,
As if thy natal stars were flowers
That shook their seeds round thee on
earth.

And thou, to lull thine infant rest,

Wast cradled like an Indian child; All pleasant winds from south and west With lullabies thine ears beguiled, Rocking thee in thine oriole's nest,

Till Nature looked at thee and smiled.

Waving so flower-like When the winds blow!

Into the starlight
Rushing in spray,
Happy at midnight,
Happy by day!

Ever in motion,

Blithesome and cheery, Still climbing heavenward, Never aweary :

Glad of all weathers,
Still seeming best,
Upward or downward,
Motion thy rest ; —

Full of a nature

Nothing can tame,
Changed every moment,
Ever the same; -

Ceaseless aspiring,
Ceaseless content,
Darkness or sunshine
Thy element; -

Glorious fountain!
Let my heart be
Fresh, changeful, constant,
Upward, like thee!

ODE.

1.

In the old days of awe and keen-eyed wonder,

The Poet's song with blood-warm truth was rife ;

He saw the mysteries which circle under The outwardshell and skin of daily life. Nothing to him were fleeting time and fashion,

His soul was led by the eternal law; There was in him no hope of fame, no passion,

But, with calm, godlike eyes he only

saw.

He did not sigh o'er heroes dead and buried,

As he foresaw how all things false should crumble

Before the free, uplifted soul of man : And, when he was made full to overflowing

With all the loveliness of heaven and earth,

Out rushed his song, like molten iron glowing,

To show God sitting by the humblest hearth.

With calmest courage he was ever ready To teach that action was the truth of thought,

And, with strong arm and purpose firm and steady,

An anchor for the drifting world he wrought.

Sodidhe makethe meanest man partaker Of all his brother-godsunto him gave; All souls did reverence him and name him Maker,

And when he died heaped temples on

his grave.

And still his deathless words of light are swimming

Serene throughout the great deep infinite

Of human soul, unwaning and undim

ming,

To cheer and guide the mariner at night.

ed sphere !

O, prophesy no more, but be the Poet! Thislonging was but granted unto thee That, when all beauty thou couldst feel and know it,

That beauty in its highest thou couldst be.

O, thou who moanest tost with sealike longings

Who dimly hearest voices call on thee, Whose soul is overfilled with mighty throngings

Of love, and fear, and glorious agony, Thou of the toil-strung hands and iron sinews

And soul by Mother Earth with freedom fed,

In whom the hero-spirit yet continues, The old free nature is not chained or

Who sees a brother in the evildoer,

And finds in Love the heart's-blood of his song;This, this is he for whom the world is waiting

Tosing the beatings ofits mighty heart, Too long hath it been patient with the grating

Of scrannel-pipes, and heard it misnamed Art.

To him the smiling soul of man shall listen

Laying awhile its crown of thorns
aside,

And once again in every eye shall glisten
The glory of a nature satisfied.
His verse shall have a great command-
ing motion,

Heaving and swelling with a melody Learntofthesky, the river, and the ocean And all the pure, majestic things that be.

Awake, then, thou! we pine for thy great presence

To make us feel the soul once more sublime,

We are of far too infinite an essence Torestcontented with the lies of Time

One half the cold she had not felt Until she saw this gush of light Spread warmly forth, and seem to melt Its slow way through the deadening night.

She hears a woman's voice within, Singing sweet words her childhood knew,

And years of misery and sin

Furl off, and leave her heaven blue.

Her freezing heart, like one who sinks
Outwearied in the drifting snow,
Drowses to deadly sleep and thinks
No longer of its hopeless woe:

Old fields, and clear blue summer days,
Old meadows, green with grass and

trees,

That shimmer through the trembling haze

And whiten in the western breeze, →