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I, meanwhile, for the loss of a single small chit of a girl, sit

Moping and mourning here,-for her, and myself much smaller. Whither depart the souls of the brave that die in the battle,

Die in the lost, lost fight, for the cause that perishes with them? Are they uphorne from the field on the slumberous pinions of angels Unto a far-off home, where the weary rest from their labor,

And the deep wounds are healed, and

the bitter and burning moisture Wiped from the generous eyes? or do they linger, unhappy,

Pining, and haunting the grave of their by-gone hope and endeavor?

All declamation, alas! though I talk,
I care not for Rome nor
Italy; feebly and faintly, and but with
the lips, can lament the

Wreck of the Lombard youth, and the
victory of the oppressor.
Whither depart the brave !-God knows;
I certainly do not.

ENVOI

So go forth to the world, to the good report and the evil!

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WHAT Voice did on my spirit fall,
Peschiera, when thy bridge I crost?
""Tis better to have fought and lost.
Than never to have fought at all."

The tricolor-a trampled rag-
Lies, dirt and dust; the lines I track
By sentry boxes yellow-black,
Lead up to no Italian flag.

I see the Croat soldier stand
Upon the grass of your redoubts;
The eagle with his black wings flouts
The breadth and beauty of your land.

Yet not in vain, although in vain,
O men of Brescia, on the day
Of loss past hope, I heard you say
Your welcome to the noble pain.

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OR shall I say, Vain word, false thought,
Since Prudence hath her martyrs too,
And Wisdom dictates not to do,
Till doing shall be not for nought?

Not ours to give or lose is life;
Will Nature, when her brave ones fall,
Remake her work? or songs recall
Death's victim slain in useless strife?

That rivers flow into the sea
Is loss and waste, the foolish say.
Nor know that back they find their way,
Unseen, to where they wont to be.

Showers fall upon the hills, springs flow,
The river runneth still at hand,
Brave men are born into the land,
And whence the foolish do not know.

No! no vain voice did on me fall,
Peschiera, when thy bridge I crost,
"'T is better to have fought and lost,
Than never to have fought at all."
1849. 1862.

IN THE DEPTHS

IT is not sweet content, be sure,
That moves the nobler Muse to song,
Yet when could truth come whole and

pure

From hearts that inly writhe with wrong?

"T is not the calm and peaceful breast That sees or reads the problem true; They only know, on whom 't has prest Too hard to hope to solve it too.

Our ills are worse than at their ease These blameless happy souls suspect, They only study the disease,

Alas, who live not to detect. 1862.

THE LATEST DECALOGUE THOU shalt have one God only; who Would be at the expense of two?

No graven images may be
Worshipped, except the currency:
Swear not at all; for, for thy curse
Thine enemy is none the worse:
At church on Sunday to attend
Will serve to keep the world thy friend :
Honor thy parents: that is, all

From whom advancement may befall; Thou shalt not kill; but need'st not strive

Officiously to keep alive:
Do not adultery commit;
Advantage rarely comes of it:

Thou shalt not steal; an empty feat, .
When it's so lucrative to cheat:
Bear not false witness; let the lie
Have time on its own wings to fly :
Thou shalt not covet, but tradition
Approves all forms of competition.

FROM DIPSYCHUS

1862.

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This world is very odd we see,
We do not comprehend it;
But in one fact we all agree,
God won't, and we can't mend it.

Being common sense, it can't be sin
To take it as I find it;

The pleasure to take pleasure in ;
The pain, try not to mind it.

These juicy meats, this flashing wine,
May be an unreal mere appearance;
Only-for my inside, in fine,

They have a singular coherence.

Oh yes, my pensive youth, abstain ;
And any empty sick sensation,
Remember, anything like pain
Is only your imagination.

Trust me, I've read your German sage
To far more purpose e'er than you did;
You find it in his wisest page,

Whom God deludes is well deluded. 1849. 1869.

Where are the great, whom thou would'st wish to praise thee? Where are the pure, whom thou would'st choose to love thee?

Where are the brave, to stand supreme above thee,

Whose high commands would cheer, whose chiding raise thee?

Seek, seeker, in thyself; submit to find

When the enemy is near thee,
Call on us!

In our hands we will upbear thee,
He shall neither scathe nor scare thee,
He shall fly thee, and shall fear thee.
Call on us!

Call when all good friends have left thee,
Of all good sights and sounds bereft thee;
Call when hope and heart are sinking,
And the brain is sick with thinking,
Help, O help!

Call, and following close behind thee There shall haste, and there shall find thee,

Help, sure help.

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SAY NOT THE STRUGGLE NOUGHT
AVAILETH

SAY not the struggle nought availeth,
The labor and the wounds are vain,
The enemy faints not, nor faileth,

And as things have been they remain.

If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars; It may be, in yon smoke concealed, Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers, And, but for you, possess the field. For while the tired waves, vainly breaking,

Seem here no painful inch to gain, Far back, through creeks and inlets making,

Comes silent, flooding in, the main.

And not by eastern windows only, When daylight comes, comes in the light, [slowly,

In front, the sun climbs slow, how But westward, look, the land is bright. 1849. 1862.

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Long ere to-day

Corruption that sad perfect work hath done,

Which here she scarcely, lightly had begun :

The foul engendered worm Feeds on the flesh of the life-giving form

Of our most Holy and Anointed One.
He is not risen, no-

He lies and moulders low;
Christ is not risen!

What if the women, ere the dawn was gray,

Saw one or more great angels, as they say

(Angels, or Him himself)? Yet neither there, nor then,

Nor afterwards, nor elsewhere, nor at all,

Hath He appeared to Peter or the Ten; Nor save in thunderous terror, to blind

Saul;

Save in an after Gospel and late Creed,
He is not risen, indeed,-
Christ is not risen!

Or, what if e'en, as runs a tale, the Ten Saw, heard, and touched, again and yet again?

What if at Emmaüs' inn, and by Capernaum's Lake,

Came One, the bread that brake

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Nor verify;

So spread the wondrous fame;
He all the same

Lay senseless, mouldering, low:
He was not risen, no-

Christ was not risen!

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust;
As of the unjust, also of the just-
Yea, of that Just One, too!
This is the one sad Gospel that is true--
Christ is not risen!

Is He not risen, and shall we not rise?
Oh, we unwise!

What did we dream, what wake we to discover?

Ye hills, fall on us, and ye mountains, cover!

In darkness and great gloom Come ere we thought it is our day of doom;

From the cursed world, which is one tomb,

Christ is not risen!

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Here, on our Easter Day

We rise, we come, and lo! we find Him not,

Gardener nor other, on the sacred spot: Where they have laid Him there is none to say;

No sound, nor in, nor out-no word Of where to seek the dead or meet the living Lord.

There is no glistering of an angel's wings,

There is no voice of heavenly clear behest:

Let us go hence, and think upon these things

In silence, which is best.
Is He not risen? No-
But lies and moulders low?
Christ is not risen?

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