VIII.

THE WORLD'S TRIUMPHS.

So far as I conceive the World's rebuke

To him address'd who would recast her new,
Not from herself her fame of strength she took,

But from their weakness, who would work her rue.
Behold," she cries," so many rages lull'd,

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So many fiery spirits quite cool'd down:

Look how so many valors, long undull'd,
After short commerce with me, fear my frown.
Thou too, when thou against my crimes wouldst cry,
Let thy foreboded homage check thy tongue."-
The World speaks well: yet might her foe reply-
"Are wills so weak? then let not mine wait long.

Hast thou so rare a poison? let me be

Keener to slay thee, lest thou poison me."

STANZAS

IN MEMORY OF THE LATE EDWARD QUILLINAN, ESQ

I SAW him sensitive in frame,

I knew his spirits low;

And wish'd him health, success, and fame:

I do not wish it now.

For these are all their own reward,
And leave no good behind;

They try us, oftenest make us hard,
Less modest, pure, and kind.

Alas! Yet to the suffering man,
In this his mortal state,

Friends could not give what fortune can
Health, ease, a heart elate.

But he is now by Fortune foil'd
No more; and we retain
The memory of a man unspoil'd,

Sweet, generous, and humane;

With all the fortunate have not

With gentle voice and brow.

Alive, we would have chang'd his lot: We would not change it now.

MORALITY.

WE cannot kindle when we will
The fire that in the heart resides,

The spirit bloweth and is still,
In mystery our soul abides:

But tasks in hours of insight will'd Can be through hours of gloom fulfill'd.

With aching hands and bleeding feet
We dig and heap, lay stone on stone;
We bear the burden and the heat
Of the long day, and wish 'twere done.
Not till the hours of light return
All we have built do we discern.

Then, when the clouds are off the soul, When thou dost bask in Nature's eye, Ask, how she view'd thy self-control, Thy struggling task'd morality.

Nature, whose free, light, cheerful air, Oft made thee, in thy gloom, despair.

And she, whose censure thou dost dread,
Whose eye thou wert afraid to seek,
See, on her face a glow is spread,

A strong emotion on her cheek.

"Ah child," she cries, "that strife divine Whence was it, for it is not mine?

"There is no effort on my brow

I do not strive, I do not weep.

I rush with the swift spheres, and glow
In joy, and, when I will, I sleep. –
Yet that severe, that earnest air,
I saw, I felt it once but where?"

"I knew not yet the gauge of Time,
Nor wore the manacles of Space.
I felt it in some other clime-

I saw it in some other place.

'Twas when the heavenly house I trod, And lay upon the breast of God."