My head o'er crystals bastions bent,

'Twixt star-crowned spire and battlement I see the river of green ice

From precipice to precipice

Wind earthward slow, with blighting breath
Blackening the vales below like death.
Far, far beneath in sealike reach

Receding to the horizon's rim,
I see the woods of pine and beech,
By their own breath made dim:
I see the lands which heroes trod;

I see the land where Virtue chose
To live alone, and live to God;

The land she gave to those

Who know that on the hearth alone
True Freedom rears her fort and throne.

Lift up, not only hand and eye,

Lift up, O Man, thy heart on high :

Or downward gaze once more; and see

How spiritual dust can be !

Then far into the Future dive,

And ask if there indeed survive,

When fade the worlds, no primal shapes
Of disembodied hills and capes,
Types meet to shadow Godhead forth;
Dread antitypes of shapes on earth?
O Earth! thou shalt not wholly die,
Of some new Earth' the chrysalis
Predestined from Eternity,

6

Nor seldom seen through this;
On which, in glory gazing, we
Perchance shall oft remember thee,

And trace through it thine ancient frame
Distinct, like flame espied through flame,
Or like our earliest friends, above

Not lost, though merged in heavenlier love
How changed, yet still the same!

HUMAN LIFE.

SAD is our youth, for it is ever going,
Crumbling away beneath our very feet;
Sad is our life, for onward it is flowing
In current unperceived because so fleet;
Sad are our hopes, for they were sweet in sowing,
But tares, self-sown, have overtopped the wheat;
Sad are our joys, for they were sweet in blowing;
And still, oh still, their dying breath is sweet:
And sweet is youth, although it hath bereft us
Of that which made our childhood sweeter still;
And sweet our life's decline for it hath left us
A nearer Good to cure an older Ill;

---

And sweet are all things, when we learn to prize them

Not for their sake, but His who grants them or denies

them.

SONGS.

'WHEN I WAS YOUNG, I SAID TO SORROW?

WHEN I was young, I said to Sorrow,

Come, and I will play with thee:

He is near me now all day;
And at night returns to say,

I will come again to-morrow,
I will come and stay with thee.

Through the woods we walk together;
His soft footsteps rustle nigh me;
To shield an unregarded head,
He hath built a winter shed;

And all night in rainy weather,
I hear his gentle breathings by me.

'SING THE OLD SONG!'

SING the old song, amid the sounds dispersing
That burden treasured in your hearts too long;

Sing it with voice low breathed, but never name her.

She will not hear you, in her turrets nursing

High thoughts, too high to mate with mortal song Bend o'er her, gentle Heaven, but do not claim her!

In twilight caves, and secret lonelinesses,

She shades the bloom of her unearthly days;

And the soft winds alone have power to woo her: Far off we catch the dark gleam of her tresses;

And wild birds haunt the wood-walks where she strays, Intelligible music warbling to her.

That Spirit charged to follow and defend her,
He also, doubtless, suffers this love-pain;
And she perhaps is sad, hearing his sighing:
And yet that face is not so sad as tender;

Like some sweet singer's when her sweetest strain
From the heaved heart is gradually dying!

'SOFTLY, O MIDNIGHT HOURS!'

SOFTLY, O midnight Hours!
Move softly o'er the bowers

Where lies in happy sleep a girl so fair!

For ye have power, men say,

Our hearts in sleep to sway,

And cage cold fancies in a moonlight snare.

Round ivory neck and arm

Enclasp a separate charm:

Hang o'er her poised; but breathe nor sigh nor prayer:

Silently ye may smile,

But hold your breath the while,

And let the wind sweep back your cloudy hair!

Bend down your glittering urns

Ere yet the dawn returns,

And star with dew the lawn her feet shall tread;
Upon the air rain balm;

Bid all the woods be calm;

Ambrosial dreams with healthful slumbers wed.
That so the Maiden may

With smiles your care repay

When from her couch she lifts her golden head;
Waking with earliest birds,

Ere yet the misty herds

Leave warm 'mid the gray grass their dusky bed.

'SEEK NOT THE TREE OF SILKIEST BARK.'

SEEK not the tree of silkiest bark

And balmiest bud,

To carve her name

while yet 't is dark

Upon the wood.

The world is full of noble tasks,

And wreaths hard-won:

Each work demands strong hearts, strong hands,
Till day is done.

Sing not that violet-veinèd skin

That cheek's pale roses;

The lily of that form wherein

Her soul reposes!

Forth to the fight, true man, true knight!
The clash of arms

Shall more prevail than whispered tale
To win her charms.

The warrior for the True, the Right,
Fights in Love's name:

The love that lures thee from that fight
Lures thee to shame.

That love which lifts the heart, yet leaves The spirit free,

That love, or none, is fit for one

Man-shaped like thee.