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Nor suffered they Hostelry or Tavern
To shock with mirth a street so solemn ;
But opposite the place of the cavern

They wrote the story on a column,
And on the Great Church Window painted
The same, to make the world acquainted
How their children were stolen away ;
And there it stands to this very day.

And I must not omit to say

That in Transylvania there's a tribe
Of alien people, that ascribe

The outlandish ways and dress

On which their neighbours lay such stress,
To their fathers and mothers having risen
Out of some subterraneous prison
Into which they were trepanned
Long time ago in a mighty band,

Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land,
But how or why, they don't understand.

So Willy, let you and me be wipers

Of scores out with all men,—especially pipers,
And whether they pipe us free from rats or from mice
If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise.
R. Browning.

LXVII.

TO THE VIOLET.

IOLET! sweet violet !

Thine eyes are full of tears;

Are they wet

Even yet

With the thought of other years?

Or with gladness are they full,
For the night so beautiful,

And longing for those far-off spheres?

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Or for the stars so calmly shining;
Like thee let this soul of mine

Take hue from that wherefore I long,
Self-stayed and high, serene and strong,
Not satisfied with hoping—but divine.
Violet! dear violet !

Thy blue eyes are only wet

With joy and love of him who sent thee,

And for the fulfilling sense

Of that glad obedience

Which made thee all that Nature meant thee!

J. R. Lowell.

LXVIII.

THE LIGHT OF STARS.

HE night is come, but not too soon ;
And sinking silently,

All silently, the little moon
Drops down behind the sky.

There is no light in earth or heaven,
But the cold light of stars;
And the first watch of night is given
To the red planet Mars.

Is it the tender star of love?

The star of love and dreams? O no! from that blue tent above, A hero's armour gleams.

And earnest thoughts within me rise,
When I behold afar,
Suspended in the evening skies,
The shield of that red star.

O star of strength! I see thee stand
And smile upon my pain;

Thou beckonest with thy mailéd hand,
And I am strong again.

Within my breast there is no light,
But the cold light of stars;
I give the first watch of the night
To the red planet Mars.

The star of the unconquered will,
He rises in my breast,

Serene, and resolute, and still,

And calm, and self-possessed.

And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art
That readest this brief psalm,
As one by one thy hopes depart,
Be resolute and calm.

O, fear not in a world like this,
And thou shalt know, ere long,
Know how sublime a thing it is
To suffer and be strong.

H. W. Longfellow.

LXIX.

TRUST IN PROVIDENCE.

ORD when we seek thy throne of grace,
To crave a blessing there,

O let not earthly things have place
Unduly in our prayer.

To know that 'tis thy bounteous hand
Our daily bread bestows;
To feel it is from thy command
Each added blessing flows.

This we may humbly know and feel,
But let not worldly store

One thought excite which would reveal
A craving thirst for more.

Thou knowest well what things we need :

Oh give us faith to see

That such necessities can plead

Their own brief wants with thee.

But teach us in the solemn hour
Of supplication, still

Simply to crave of thee the power
To do thy holy will;

To feel that thy protecting care
From evil is our shield;

To see, in dark temptations' snare
The arm for us revealed.

Be such our prayers! for all beside
Thy word a pledge shall be,
For thou hast promised to provide

For all who follow thee.

B. Barton.

LXX.

TO THE CUCKOO.

BLITHE New-comer! I have heard,
I hear thee and rejoice.

O Cuckoo shall I call thee Bird,

Or but a wandering Voice?

While I am lying on the grass

Thy twofold shout I hear,

From hill to hill it seems to pass,

At once far off, and near.

Though babbling only to the Vale,

Of sunshine and of flowers,

Thou bringest unto me a tale
Of visionary hours.

Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring!

Even yet thou art to me

No bird, but an invisible thing,

A voice, a mystery;

The same whom in my school-boy days
I listened to; that Cry

Which made me look a thousand ways
In bush, and tree, and sky.

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