Looked down and saw what I had done : thought I saw the blue lips try To utter something, Rosaline! I waited with a maddened grin But no voice came, and then it seemed, And then, amid the silent night, Why wilt thou haunt me with thine eyes, A REQUIEM. Ay, pale and silent maiden, Into the eternal shadow That girds our life around, Into the infinite silence Wherewith Death's shore is bound, Thou hast gone forth, beloved! And I were mean to weep, Thou liest low and silent, Thy heart is cold and still, But the tuft of moss before him Opened while he waited yet, And, from out the rock's hard bosom, Sprang a tender violet. "God! I thank thee," said the Prophet; "Hard of heart and blind was I, Looking to the holy mountain For the gift of prophecy. "Still thou speakest with thy children Freely as in eld sublime; Humbleness, and love, and patience, Still give empire over time. "Had I trusted in my nature, And had faith in lowly things, Thou thyself wouldst then have sought me, And set free my spirit's wings. "But I looked for signs and wonders, "Ere I entered on my journey, As I girt my loins to start, Ran to me my little daughter, The beloved of my heart; "In her hand she held a flower, SONG. O MOONLIGHT deep and tender, O elm-leaves dark and dewy, O river, dim with distance, Within your heart doth lie! O stars, ye saw our meeting, O happy night, deliver Her kisses back to me, V. TO THE SPIRIT OF KEATS. GREAT soul, thou sittest with me in my room, Uplifting me with thy vast, quiet eyes, On whose full orbs, with kindly lustre, lies The twilight warmth of ruddy embergloom: Thy clear, strong tones will oft bring sudden bloom Of hope secure, to him who lonely cries, Wrestling with the young poet's agonies, Neglect and scorn, which seem a certain doom: Yes! the few words which, like great thunder-drops, Thy large heart down to earth shook doubtfully, Thrilled by the inward lightning of its might, Serene and pure, like gushing joy of light, Shall track the eternal chords of Destiny, After the moon-led pulse of ocean stops. And a heart-tremble quivers through the | We live and love, well knowing that TO M. W., ON HER BIRTHDAY. MAIDEN, when such a soul as thine is born, The morning-stars their ancient music make, And, joyful, once again their song awake, Long silent now with melancholy scorn; And thou, not mindless of so blest a morn, By no least deed its harmony shalt break, there is No backward step for those who feel the bliss Of Faith as their most lofty yearnings high: Love hath so purified my being's core, Meseems I scarcely should be startled, even, To find, some morn, that thou hadst gone before; Since, with thy love, this knowledge too was given, Which each calm day doth strengthen more and more, That they who love are but one step from Heaven. X. I CANNOT think that thou shouldst pass away, Whose life to mine is an eternal law, But rather raised to be a nobler man, But shalt to that high chime thy foot-As knowing that the waiting eyes which And more divine in my humanity, steps take, Through life's most darksome passes un forlorn; Therefore from thy pure faith thou shalt not fall, Therefore shalt thou be ever fair and free, And in thine every motion musical IX. My Love, I have no fear that thou shouldst die; Albeit I ask no fairer life than this, Whose numbering-clock is still thy gentle kiss, While Time and Peace with hands enlocked fly, Yet care I not where in Eternity scan My life are lighted by a purer being, And ask meek, calm-browed deeds, with it agreeing. XI. THERE never yet was flower fair in vain, Let classic poets rhyme it as they will; The seasons toil that it may blow again, And summer's heart doth feel its every ill; Nor is a true soul ever born for naught; Wherever any such hath lived and died, There hath been something for true freedom wrought, Some bulwark levelled on the evil side: Toil on, then, Greatness! thou art in the right, However narrow souls may call thee wrong; Be as thou wouldst be in thine own clear sight, XIV. ON READING WORDSWORTH'S SONNETS IN DEFENCE OF CAPITAL PUNISHMENT. As the broad ocean endlessly upheaveth, With the majestic beating of his heart, The mighty tides, whereof its rightful part Each sea-wide bay and little weed receiveth, So, through his soul who earnestly believeth, Life from the universal Heart doth flow, Whereby some conquest of the eternal Woe, By instinct of God's nature, he achieveth: A fuller pulse of this all-powerful beauty Into the poet's gulf-like heart doth tide, And he more keenly feels the glorious duty Of serving Truth, despised and crucified, Happy, unknowing sect or creed, to rest, And feel God flow forever through his breast. XV. THE SAME CONTINUED. ONCE hardly in a cycle blossometh A flower-like soul ripe with the seeds of song, A spirit foreordained to cope with wrong, Whose divine thoughts are natural as breath, Who the old Darkness thickly scattereth With starry words, that shoot prevailing light Into the deeps, and wither, with the blight Of serene Truth, the coward heart of Death: Woe, if such spirit thwart its errand high, And mock with lies the longing soul of man! Yet one age longer must true Culture lie, XVI. THE SAME CONTINUED. THE love of all things springs from love of one; Wider the soul's horizon hourly grows, |