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He shall not blind his soul with clay.” My wife, my life. O we will walk this
" But 1," world, Said Ida, tremulously, “so all unlike- Yoked in all exercise of noble end. It seems you love to cheat yourself | And so thro' those dark gates across with words :
the wild This mother is your model. I have That no man knows. Indeed I love heard
thee: come, Of your strange doubts: they well Yield thyself up: my hopes and thine might be: I seem
are one i A mockery to my own self. Never, Accomplish thou my manhood and Prince;
thyself; You cannot love me.”
Lay thy sweet hands in mine and trust * Nay but thee." I said " From yearlong poring on thy pic
tured eyes, Ere seen I loved, and loved thee seen,
CONCLUSION. and saw Thee woman thro' the crust of iron So closed our tale, of which I give you moods
all That mask'd thee from men's rever- | The random scheme as wildly as it ence up, and forced
rose ; Sweet love on pranks of saucy boy The words are mostly mine ; for when hood: now,
we ceased Giv'n back to life, to life indeed, thro’ | There came a minute's pause, and thee,
Walter said, Indeed I love: the new day comes, the
“I wish she had not yielded !" then to Dearer for night, as dearer thou for
" What, if you drest it up poetically!” Lived over: lift thine eyes; my doubts So pray'd the men, the women: I gave are dead,
assent : My haunting sense of hollow shows: Yet how to bind the scatter'd scheme the change,
of seven This truthful change in thee has kill'd Together in one sheaf? What style it. Dear,
could suit ? Look up, and let thy nature strike on The men required that I should give mine,
throughout Like yonder morning on the blind half The sort of mock-heroic gigantesque, world;
With which we banter'd little Lilia Approach and fear not; breathe upon first: my brows;
The women-and perhaps they felt In that fine air I tremble, all the past their power, Melts mist-like into this bright hour,
For something in the ballads which and this
they sang, Is morn to more, and all the rich to. Or in their sileni influence as they sat, come
Had ever seem'd to wrestle with burReels, as the golden Autumn woodland lesque, reels
And cirove us, last, to quite a solemn Athwart the smoke of burning weeds. closeForgive me,
They hated banter, wish'd for someI waste my heart in signs ; let be. My thing real, bride,
| A gallant fight, a noble princess-why
Not make her true-heroic-true-sub- A red sail, or a white; and far beyond, lime ?
Imagined more than seen, the skirts of Or all, they said, as earnest as the France.
close?' Which yet with such a framework
“Look there, a garden !” said my scarce could be.
college friend, Then rose a little feud betwixt the two,
The Tory member's elder son, "and Betwixt the mockers and the realists;
there! And I, betwixt them both, to please
God bless the narrow sea which keeps them both,
her off, And yet to give the story as it rose,
And keeps our Britain, whole within I moved as in a strange diagonal,
herself, And maybe neither pleased myself nor
A nation yet, the rulers and the ruled
Some sense of duty, something of a them.
faith, But Lilia pleased me, for she took
Some reverence for the laws ourselves
have made, no part In our dispute : the sequel of the tale
Some patient force to change them
when we will, Had touch'd her; and she sat, she pluck'd the grass,
Some civic manhood firm against the
crowdShe Aung it from her, thinking : last,
But yonder, whiff! there comes a sudshe fixt
den heat, A showery glance upon her aunt, and
The gravest citizen seems to lose his said,
head, “You tell us what we are ” who might
The king is scared, the soldier will not have told.
fight, For she was cramm'd with theories
The little boy begins to shoot and out of books,
stab, But that there rose a shout; the gates
A kingdom topples over with a shriek were closed
Like an old woman, and down rolls the At sunset, and the crowd were swarm
world ing now,
In mock heroics stranger than our To take their leave, about the garden
Revolts, republics, revolutions, most
No graver than a school-boys' barring So I and some went out to these:
out; we climb'd
Too comic for the solemn things they The slope to Vivian-place, and turning
Too solemn for the comic touches in The happy valleys, half in light, and
Like our wild Princess with as wise a Far-shadowing from the west, a land of dream peace ;
As some of theirs-God bless the narGray halls alone among the massive row seas! groves ;
I wish they were a whole Atlantic Trim hamlets; here and there a rustic broad.”
tower Half-lost in belts of hop and breadths | “Have patience," I replied, “ourof wheat ;
selves are full The shimmering glimpses of a stream; Of social wrong; and maybe wildest the seas ;
Are but the needful preludes of the The long line of the approaching truth :
rookery swerve For me, the genial day, the happy From the elms, and shook the branches crowd,
of the deer The sport half-science, fill me with a From slope to slope thro' distant ferns, faith.
and rang This fine old world of ours is but a Beyond the bourn of sunset; 0, a child
shout Vet in the go-cart. Patience! Give it More joyful than the city-roar that
hails To learn its limbs: there is a hand that Premier or king! Why should not guides.”
these great Sirs
Give up their parks some dozen times In such discourse we gain'd the gar a year den rails,
To let the people breathe? So thrice And there we saw Sir Walter where he they cried, stood,
I likewise, and in groups they stream'd Before a tower of crimson holly-oaks,
away. Among six boys, head under head, and look'd
But we went back to the Abbey, and No little lily-handed Baronet he,
sat on, A great broad-shoulder'd genial Eng.
o. So much the gathering darkness lishman,
charm'd: we sat A lord of fat prize-oxen and of sheep,
But spoke not, rapt in nameless reverie, A raiser of huge melons and of pine,
Perchance upon the futi re man: the
walls A patron of some thirty charities, A pamphleteer on guano and on grain,
Blacken'd about us, bats wheel'd, and A quarter-sessions chairman, abler
And gradually the powers of the night, none; Fair-hair'd and redder than a windy
That range above the region of the
wind, morn; Now shaking hands with him, now
Deepening the courts of twilight broke him, of those
them up That stood the nearest-now address'd
Thro'all the silent spaces of the worlds, to speech
Beyond all thought into the Heaven oi Who spoke few words and pithy, such
Heavens. as closed
Last little Lilia, rising quietly Welcome, farewell, and welcome for | Disrobed the glimmering statue of Sir the year
Ralph To follow : a shout rose again, and From those rich silks, and home wellmade
pleased we went
STRONG Son of God, immortal Love, Forgive my grief for one removed. Whom we, that have not seen thy Thy creature, whom I found so fair face,
| I trust he lives in thee, and there By faith, and faith alone, embrace, I find him worthier to be loved. Believing where we cannot prove;
Forgive these wild and wandering Thine are these orbs of light and shade; cries,
Thou madest life in man and brute; Confusions of a wasted youth;
Thou madest Death; and lo, thy foot Forgive them where they fail in Is on the skull which thou hast made. truth,
| And in thy wisdom make me wise. Thou wilt not leave us in the dust:
Thou madest man, he knows not why; He thinks he was not made to die; | And thou hast made him: thou art just.
The highest, holiest manhood, thou:
A. H. H.
OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII. Our little systems have their day;
They have their day and cease to be:
They are but broken lights of thee, And thou, O Lord, art more than they. I HELD-it truth, with him who sings
To one clear harp in divers tones, We have but faith: we cannot know; That men may rise on stepping
For knowledge is of things we see; stones And yet we trust it comes from thee, Of their dead selves to higher things. A beam in darkness : let it grow.
| But who shall so forecast the years, Let knowledge grow from more to And find in loss a gain to match ? more,
Or reach a hand thro' time to catch But more of reverence in us dwell ; | The far-off interest of tears ?
That mind and soul, according well, May make one music as before, Let Love clasp Grief lest both be
drown'd But vaster. We are fools and slight;/ Let darkness keep her raven gloss :
We mock thee when we do not fear: Ah, sweeter to be drunk with loss,
But help thy foolish ones to bear; To dance with death, to beat the Help thy vain worlds to bear thy light. ground, Forgive what seem'd my sin in me; Than that the victor Hours should What seem'd my worth since I scorn began;
The long result of love, and boast, For merit lives from man to man, “Behold the man that loved and lost And not from man, O Lord, to thee. But all he was is overworn."
O heart, how fares it with thee now,
That thou shouldst fail from thy OLD Yew, which graspest at the stones desire,
That name the underlying dead, Who scarcely darest to inquire
Thy fibres net the dreamless head, “ What is it makes me beat so low?" Thy roots are wrapt about the bones.
Something it is which thou hast lost, The seasons bring the flower again, Some pleasure from thine early
And bring the firstling to the flock; years.
And in the dusk of thee, the clock Break, thou deep vase of chilling Beats out the little lives of men.
That grief hath shaken into frost ! O not for thee the glow, the bloom,
Who changest not in any gale, Such clouds of nameless trouble cross Nor branding summer suns avail All night below the darken’d eyes; To touch thy thousand years of gloom : With morning wakes the will, and
cries, And gazing on thee, sullen tree, | " Thou shalt not be the fool of loss."
Sick for thy stubborn hardihood,
I seem to fail from out my blood And grow incorporate into thee.
I SOMETIMES hold it half a sin
To put in words the grief I feel;
For words, like Nature, half reveal O SORROW, cruel fellowship,
And half conceal the Soul within. O Priestess in the vaults of Death,
O sweet and bitter in a breath, But, for the unquiet heart and brain, What whispers from thy lying lip? A use in measured language lies;
The sad mechanic exercise, “The stars,” she whispers, “blindly | Like dull narcotics, numbing pain.
run; A web is woy'n across the sky: In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er,
From out waste places comes a cry, Like coarsest clothes against the And murmurs from the dying sun :
But that large grief which these en“And all the phantom, Nature, stands, fold
With all the music in her tone, Is given in outline and no more.
A hollow echo of my own,-
vi. And shall I take a thing so blind, ONE writes, that “Other friends reEmbrace her as my natural good;
main," Or crush her, like a vice of blood, That “Loss is common to the Upon the threshold of the mind ?
race," And common is the commonplace, And vacant chaff well meant for grain.
To Sleep I give my powers away;
I sit within a helmless bark,
That loss is common would not make
Too common! Never morning wore 'To evening, but some heart did break.