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And mix the seasons and the golden hours,
Till each man finds his own in all men's good,
And all men work in noble brotherhood,
Breaking their mailed fleets and armed towers,
And ruling by obeying Nature's powers,
And gathering all the fruits of peace and crown'd
with all her flowers.

A DEDICATION.

DEAR, near and true

- no truer Time himself

Can prove you, tho' he make you evermore
Dearer and nearer, as the rapid of life

Shoots to the fall-take this, and pray that he,
Who wrote it, honoring your sweet faith in him,
May trust himself; and spite of praise and scorn,
As one who feels the immeasurable world,
Attain the wise indifference of the wise;
And after Autumn past - if left to pass
His autumn into seeming-leafless days—
Draw toward the long frost and longest night,
Wearing his wisdom lightly, like the fruit
Which in our winter woodland looks a flower.*

THE CAPTAIN.

A LEGEND OF THE NAVY.

HE that only rules by terror

Doeth grievous wrong.
Deep as Hell I count his error,

Let him hear my song.

• The fruit of the Spindle-tree (Euonymus Europeus.)

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Brave the Captain was: the seamen
Made a gallant crew,

Gallant sons of English freemen,
Sailors bold and true.
But they hated his oppression,
Stern he was and rash;
So for every light transgression
Doom'd them to the lash.
Day by day more harsh and cruel
Seem'd the Captain's mood.
Secret wrath like smother'd fuel
Burnt in each man's blood.
Yet he hoped to purchase glory,
Hoped to make the name
Of his vessel great in story,
Wheresoe'er he came.

So they past by capes and islands,
Many a harbor-mouth,

Sailing under palmy highlands
Far within the South.

On a day when they were going
O'er the lone expanse,

In the North, her canvas flowing,
Rose a ship of France.
Then the Captain's color heighten'd

Joyful came his speech:

But a cloudy gladness lighten'd

In the eyes of each.

"Chase," he said: the ship flew forward, And the wind did blow;

Stately, lightly, went she Norward,

Till she near'd the foe.

Then they look'd at him they hated,
Had what they desired:

Mute with folded arms they waited
Not a gun was fired.

But they heard the foeman's thunder
Roaring out their doom;

All the air was torn in sunder,

Crashing went the boom,

Spars were splinter'd, decks were shatter'd,
Bullets fell like rain;

Over mast and deck were scatter'd

Blood and brains of men.

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Spars were splinter'd; decks were broken :
Every mother's son-

Down they dropt no word was spoken
Each beside his gun.

On the decks as they were lying,
Were their faces grim.

In their blood, as they lay dying,
Did they smile on him.
Those, in whom he had reliance
For his noble name,

With one smile of still defiance

Sold him unto shame.

Shame and wrath his heart confounded,
Pale he turn'd and red,

Till himself was deadly wounded

Falling on the dead.

Dismal error! fearful slaughter!

Years have wander'd by,
Side by side beneath the water
Crew and Captain lie;
There the sunlit ocean tosses
O'er them mouldering,

And the lonely seabird crosses

With one waft of the wing.

THREE SONNETS TO A COQUETTE.

CARESS'D or chidden by the dainty hand,
And singing airy trifles this or that,

Light Hope at Beauty's call would perch and stan
And run thro' every change of sharp and flat;
And Fancy came and at her pillow sat,

When Sleep had bound her in his rosy band,
And chased away the still-recurring gnat,
And woke her with a lay from fairy land.
But now they live with Beauty less and less,
For Hope is other Hope and wanders far,
Nor cares to lisp in love's delicious creeds;
And Fancy watches in the wilderness,
Poor Fancy sadder than a single star,
That sets at twilight in a land of reeds.

II.

The form, the form alone is eloquent!
A nobler yearning never broke her rest
Than but to dance and sing, be gayly drest,
And win all eyes with all accomplishment:
Yet in the waltzing-circle as we went,

My fancy made me for a moment blest
To find my heart so near the beauteous breast
That once had power to rob it of content.
A moment came the tenderness of tears,
The phantom of a wish that once could move,

-

A ghost of passion that no smiles restore For ah! the slight coquette, she cannot love, And if you kiss'd her feet a thousand years,

She still would take the praise, and care

more.

III.

Wan Sculptor, weepest thou to take the cast
Of those dead lineaments that near thee lie?
O sorrowest thou, pale Painter, for the past,
In painting some dead friend from memory
?
Weep on: beyond his object Love can last:
His object lives: more cause to weep have I:
My tears, no tears of love, are flowing fast,
No tears of love, but tears that Love can die.
I pledge her not in any cheerful cup,
Nor care to sit beside her where she sits
Ah pity hint it not in human tones,

l'ut breathe it into earth and close it up With secret death forever, in the pits

Which some green Christmas crams with weary bones.

ON A MOURNER.

NATURE, so far as in her lies,

Imitates God, and turns her face
To every land beneath the skies,

Counts nothing that she meets with base,
But lives and loves in every place;

2.

Fills out the homely quick-set sci e0-V
And makes the purple lilac ripe,
Steps from her airy hill, and greens

The swamp, where hums the dropping snipe,
With moss and braided marish-pipe;

3.

And on thy heart a finger lays,
Saying, "beat quicker, for the time
Is pleasant, and the woods and ways
Are pleasant, and the beech and lime
Put forth and feel a gladder clime."

4.

And murmurs of a deeper voice,
Going before to some far shrine,
Teach that sick heart the stronger choice,
Till all thy life one way incline

With one wide will that closes thine.

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