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Which task'd thy pipe too sore, and

tired thy throat

It fail'd, and thou wast mute ! Yet hadst thou always visions of our

light, And long with men of care thou

couldst not stay. And soon thy foot resumed its wan

dering way, Left human haunt, and on alone till

night. Too rare, too rare, grow now my visits

here! 'Mid city-noise, not, as with thee of

yore, Thyrsis ! in reach of sheep-bells is

my home. - Then through the great town's harslı,

heart-wearying roar, Let in thy voice a whisper often

AUSTERITY OF POETRY THAT son of Italy who tried to blow, Ere Dante came, the trump of sacred

song, In his light youth amid a festal throng Sate with his bride to see a public show. Fair was the bride, and on her front did

glow Youth like a star; and what to youth

belongGay raiment, sparkling gauds, elation

strong A prop gave way! crash fell a platform !

lo, Mid struggling sufferers, hurt to death,

she lay! Shuddering, they drew her garments

off-and found A robe of sackcloth next the smooth,

white skin. Such, poets, is your bride, the Muse!

young, gay, Radiant, adorn'll outside; a hidden

ground Of thought and of austerity within.




Evex in a palace, life may be led uell! So spake the imperial sage, purest of men, Marcus Aurelius. But the stilling den Of common life, where, crowded up

pell-mell. Our freedom for a little bread we sell, And drudge under some foolish master's

ken Who rates us if we peer outside our

penMatch with a palace, is not this a hell? Eren in a palace! On his truth sincere, Who spoke these words, no shadow ever

came; And when my ill-schoold spirit is aflame Some nobler, ampler stage of life to win, I'll stop, and say : “ There were no suc

cor here! The aids to noble life are all within."


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To chase fatigue and fear: Why faintest thou! I wander dtill Lilierl. Roam on! The light ue sought is

shining still. Dost thou ask proof ? Our tree yet

crowns the hill. Our Scholar trarels yet the loved hill-siile.

1966. YOUTH AND CALM "Tis death ! and peace, indeed, is here, And ease from shame, and rest from fear. There's nothing can dismarble now The smoothness of that limpid brow. But is a calm like this, in truth, The crowning end of life and youth, And when this boon rewards the dead, Are all debts paid, has all been said ? And is the heart of youth so light, Its step so firm, its eyes so bright, Because on its hot brow there blows A wind of promise and repose. From the far grave, to which it goes ; Because it hath the hope to come, One day, to harbor in the tomb? th no, the bliss youth dreams is one For daylight, for the cheerful sun, For feeling nerves and living breath-Youth dreams a bliss on this side death. It dreams a rest, if not more deep, Jore grateful than this marble sleep; It hears a voice within it tell: Calm's not life's crown, though calm is

well. *T is all perhaps which man acquires, But 'tis not what our youth desires.

(1879). 1867.


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And he with unsunn'd face did always


I met a preacher there I knew, and said: · Ill and o'erwork d, how fare you in

this scene?"** Bravely!” said he;" for I of late have

been Much cheer'd with thoughts of Christ,

the living bread." O human soul ! as long as thou canst so Set up a mark of everlasting light, Above the howling senses' ebb and flow, To cheer thee, and to right thee if thou

Seiriol the Bright, Kybi the Dark! men

said. The seër from the East was then in light, The seër from the West was then in

shade. Ah! now 'tis changed. In conquering

sunshine bright The man of the bold West now comes

array'd ; He of the mystic East is touch'd with night.



Not with lost toil thou laborest through

the night! Thou mak'st the heaven thou hop'st indeed thy home.




CROUCH'D on the pavement, close by

Belgrave Square, A tramp I saw, ill, moody, and tongue

tied. A babe was in her arms, and at her side A girl ; their clothes were rags, their

feet were bare. Some laboring men, whose work lay

somewhere there, Pass'd opposite ; she touch'd her girl,

who hied Across, and begg’d, and

came back satisfied. The rich she had let pass with frozen

stare. Thought I: “ Above her state this spirit

towers ; She will not ask of aliens, but of friends, Of sharers in a common human fate. She turns from that cold succor, which

attends The unknown little from the unknow

ing great, And points us to a better time than ours."


LONG fed on boundless hopes, O race of

man, How angrily thou spurn'st all simpler

fare ! Christ,” some one says,

was human as we are : No judge eyes us from Heaven, our sin

to scan ; We live no more, when we have done

our span. * Well, then, for Christ," thou answerest,

· who can care? From sin, which Heaven records not,

why forbear? Live we like brutes our life without a

plan !” So answerest thou ; but why not rather

say : · Hath man no second life?- Pitch this

one high ! Sits there no judge in Heaven, our sin

to see? More strictly, then, the inward judge

obey! Was Christ a man like us? Ah! let us try If we then, too, can be such men as he."




In the bare midst of Anglesey they show Two springs which close by one another

play ; And, “Thirteen hundred years agone,"

they say, * Two saints met often where those

waters flow, One came from Penmon westward, and

a glow Whiten'd his face from the sun's front

ing ray ; Eastward the other, from the dying day,

Foil'd by our fellow-men, depressid.

outworn, We leave the brutal world to take its

way, And, Patience! in another life, we say, The world shall be thrust down, and we

up-borne. And will not, then, the immortal armies

scorn The world's poor, routed leavings? or

will they, Who fail'd under the heat of this life's


Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for

pain ; And we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle

and flight, Where ignorant armies clash by night.



GROWING OLD What is it to grow old ? Is it to lose the glory of the form, The lustre of the eye? Is it for beauty to forego her wreath? -Yes, but not this alone.

Is it to feel our strength-
Not our bloom only, but our strength-

Is it to feel each linh
Grow stiffer, every function less exact,
Each nerve more loosely strung?

Support the fervors of the heavenly

morn ? No, no! the energy of life may be Kept on after the grave, but not begun ; And he who flagg'd not in the earthly

strife, From strength to strength advancing

only he, His soul well-knit, and all his battles Mounts, and that hardly, to eternal life.

1867. DOVER BEACH The sea is calm to-night, The tide is full, the moon lies fair l'pon the straits ;-on the French coast

the light Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of Eng

land stand, Glimmering and vast, out in the tran

quil bay. Come to the window, sweet is the night

air ! Only, from the long line of spray Where the sea meets the moon-blanch'd

land, Listen! you hear the grating roar Of pebbles which the waves draw back,

and Aing. At their return, up the high strand, Begin, and cease, and then again begin. With tremulous cadence slow, and bring The eternal note of sadness in. Sophocles long ago Heard it on the Ægæan, and it brought Into his mind the turbid ebb and How Of human misery ; we Find also in the sound a thought, Hearing it by this distant northern sea. The Sea of Faith Was once, too, at the full, and round

earth's shore Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furld. But now I only hear Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, Retreating, to the breath Of the night-wind, down the vast edges

drear And naked shingles of the world. Ah, love, let us be true To one another ! for the world, which

Yes, this, and more: but not
Ah, it is not what in youth we dream d

't would be ! 'Tis not to have our life have Mellow'd and softenil as with sunset

glow, A golden day's decline.

“T is not to see the world As from a height, with rapt prophetic

eyes. And heart profoundly stirril: And weep, and feel the fulness of the

past, The years that are no more. It is to spend long days And not once feel that we were ever

young ; It is to add, inimured In the hot prison of the present, month To month with weary pain. It is to suffer this, And feel but half, and feebly, what we

feel. Deep in our hidden heart Festers the dull remembrance of

change, But no emotion-none. It is-last stage of allWhen we are frozen up within, and quite The phantom of ourselves, To hear the world applaud the hollow

ghost Which blamed the living man. 1867.



To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so heautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor



* Man is blind because of sin, Revelation makes him sure ; Without that, who looks within. Looks in vain, for all 's obscure.”

Nay, look closer into man !
Tell me, can you find indeed
Nothing sure, no moral plan
Clear prescribed, without your creed?
“No, I nothing can perceive !
Without that, all 's dark for men.
That, or nothing, I believe."-
For God's sake, believe it then!



CREEP into thy narrow bed, Creep, and let no more be said ! Vain thy onset ! all stands fast. Thou thyself must break at last.

And jale dog-roses in the hedge. And from the mint-plant in the selge, In puffs of balm the night-air blows The perfume which the dar foreges. And on the pure horizon far, See, pulsing with the first-born star, The liquid sky above the bill! The evening comes, the fields are still, Loitering and leaping, With saunter, with boundsFlickering and circling In files and in roundsGaily their pine-staff green Tossing in air. Loose o'er their shoulders white Showering their hairSee! the wild Mænads Break from the wood, Youth and Iacchus Maddening their blood. See! through the quiet land Rioting they passFling the fresh heaps about, Trample the grass. Tear from the rifled hedge Garlands, their prize ; Fill with their sports the field, Fill with their cries. Shepherd, what ails thee, then? Shepherd, wliy mute ? Forth with thy joyous song! Forth with thy flute ! Tempts not the revel blithe? Lure not their cries? Glow not their shoulders smooth? Melt not their eyes? Is not, on cheeks like those, Lovely the flush ? - Ah, so the quiet was! So was the hush !

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Let the long contention cease!
Geese are swans, and swans are geese.
Let them have it how they will!
Thou art tired; best be still.

They out-talk'il thee, hiss'd thee, tore

thee? Better men fared thus before thee; Fired their ringing shot and pass’d, Hotly charged--and sank at last. Charge once more, then, and be dumb! Let the victors, when they come, When the forts of folly fall, Find thy body by the wall ! 1867.






The evening comes, the fields are still.
The tinkle of the thirsty rill,
Unheard all day, ascends again ;
Deserted is the half-mown plain,
Silent the swaths! the ringing wain,
The mower's cry, the dog's alarms,
All housed within the sleeping farms !
The business of the day is done,
The last-left haymaker is gone.
And from the thyme upon the height,
And from the elder-blossom white

The epoch ends, the world is still.
The age has talk u and work'd its fil-
The famous orators have shone,
The famous poets sung and gone,
The famous men of war hare fought,
The famous speculators thought,
The famous players, sculptors, wrough!
The famous painters fill'd their wall,
The famous critics judged it all.
The combatants are parted non-
Uphung the spear, unbent the bou.
The puissant crown'd, the weak laidles
And in the after-silence sweet.
Now strifes are hush'd, our ears de



cending pure, the bell-like fame this or that down-trodden name, licate spirits, push'd away the hot press of the noon-day. do'er the plain, where the dead age Tits now silent warfare wage:s that wide plain, now

wrapt in gloom, here many a splendor finds its tomb, iny spent fames and fallen mightse one or two immortal lights e slowly up into the sky shine there everlastingly, ke stars over the bounding hill. e epoch ends, the world is still.

Set where the upper streams of Simois

flow Was the Palladium, high 'mid rock and

wood; And Hector was in Ilium, far below, And fought, and saw it not-but there

it stood !

It stood, and sun and moonshine rain'll

their light On the pure columns of its glen-built

hall, Backward and forward rollid the waves

of fight Round Troy—but while this stood, Troy

could not fall.

undering and bursting torrents, in wavesrolling and shouting er tombs, amid gravesel on the cumber'd plain earing a stage, attering the past about, omes the new age. irds make new poems, rinkers new schools, atesmen new systems, ritics new rules. II things begin again ; ife is their prize : arth with their deeds they fill, ill with their cries.

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det, what ails thee, then ? by, why so mute ? orth with thy praising voice! orth with thy fute ! piterer! why sittest thou unk in thy dream ? empts not the bright new age? lines not its stream ? ook, ah, what genius, urt, science, wit ! oldiers like Cæsar, tatesmen like Pitt! culptors like Phidias, Gaphaels in shoals, poets like ShakespeareBeautiful souls ! ipe, on their glowing cheeks leavenly the fush! -Ah, so the silence was! jo was the hush!

Still doth the soul, from its lone fastness

high, Upon our life a ruling effluence send. And when it fails, fight as we will, we

die; And while it lasts, we cannot wholly end.



I ASK not that my bed of death
From bands of greedy heirs be free ;
For these besiege the latest breath
Of fortune's favor'd sons, not me.

The world but feels the present's spell,
The poet feels the past as well ;
Whatever men have done, might do,
Whatever thought, might think it too.


I ask not each kind soul to keep Tearless, when of my death he hears. Let those who will, if any, weep!

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