Among her stars to hear us; stars that hung

Love-charm'd to listen: all the wheels of Time

Spun round in station, but the end had

come.

O then like those, who clench their nerves to rush

Upon their dissolution, we two rose, There closing like an individual life In one blind cry of passion and of pain, Like bitter accusation ev'n to death, Caught up the whole of love and utter'd it,

And bade adieu for ever.

Live-yet live Shall sharpest pathos blight us, knowing

all

Life needs for life is possible to willLive happy; tend thy flowers; be tended by

My blessing! Should my Shadow cross thy thoughts

Too sadly for their peace, remand it thou For calmer hours to Memory's darkest hold,

If not to be forgotten -not at onceNot all forgotten. Should it cross thy dreams,

O might it come like one that looks content,

With quiet eyes unfaithful to the truth, And point thee forward to a distant light, Or seem to lift a burthen from thy heart And leave thee freër, till thou wake

refresh'd

Then when the first low matin-chirp hath grown

Full quire, and morning driv'n her plow of pearl

Far furrowing into light the mounded rack,

Beyond the fair green field and eastern

sea.

THE GOLDEN YEAR.

WELL, you shall have that song which Leonard wrote:

It was last summer on a tour in Wales: Old James was with me: we that day had been

They said he lived shut up within himself, A tongue-tied Poet in the feverous days, That, setting the how much before the how,

Cry, like the daughters of the horseleech, 'Give,

Cram us with all,' but count not me the herd!

To which 'They call me what they will,' he said:

'But I was born too late the fair new forms,

That float about the threshold of an age, Like truths of Science waiting to be caught

Catch me who can, and make the catcher

Of force and choler, and firm upon his feet,

And like an oaken stock in winter woods, O'erflourish'd with the hoary clematis : Then added, all in heat:

'What stuff is this! Old writers push'd the happy season back,

The more fools they, we forward: dreamers both:

You most, that in an age, when every hour