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From thy secure and sheltering branch

The wild bird pours her glad and

fearless lay, That, with the sunbeams, falls upon

the vale,

Adding fresh brightness to the smile of day,

'Neath those broad boughs the youth has told love's tale;

And thou hast seen his hardy features blanch,

Heard his snared heart beat like a prisoned bird,

Fluttering with fear, before the fowler laid;

While his bold figure shook at every word —

The strong man trembling at a

timid maid! And thou hast smiled upon their

children's play; Seen them grow old, and gray, and

pass away.

Heard the low prattle of the thoughtless child,

Age's cold wisdom, and the lessons mild

Which patient mothers to their offspring say: — Yet art thou still the same!

Man may decay; Race after race may pass away; The great may perish, and their very fame Rot day by day — Rot noteless with their once inspired clay:

Still, as at their birth.
Thou stretchest thy long arms above
the earth —
Type of unbending Will!
Type of majestic, self-sustaining
Power!

Elate in sunshine, firm when tem-
pests lower,
May thy calm strength my wavering
spirit fill!
O let me learn from thee,
Thou proud and steadfast tree,
To bear unmurmuring what ster n
Time may send;

Nor 'neath life's ruthless tempests bend:

But calmly stand like thee, Though wrath and storm shake me.

Though vernal hopes in yellow

Autumn end, And strong in truth work out my destiny. Type of long-suffering Power! Type of unbending Will! Strong in the tempest's hour. Bright when the storm is still; Rising from every contest with an

unbroken heart. Strengthened by every struggle, emblem of might thou art! Sign of what man can compass, spite

of an adverse state, Still, from thy rocky summit, teach us to war with fate!

AWARDING OF THE POETICAL
FACULTY.

All day I heard a humming in my ears.

A buzz of many voices, and a throng
Of swarming numbers, passing

with a song
Measured and stately as the rolling

spheres'.

I saw the sudden light of lifted spears,

Slanted at once against some monster wrong;

And then a fluttering scarf which might belong

To some sweet maiden in her morn of years. I felt the chilling damp of sunless glades,

Horrid with gloom; anon, the

breath of May Was blown around me, and the

lulling play Of dripping fountains. Yet the

lights and shades, The waving scarfs, the battle's

grand parades, Seemed but vague shadows of

that wondrous lay.

TO ENGLAND.

Stand, thou great bulwark of man's liberty!

Thou rock of shelter rising from

the wave, Sole refuge to the overwearied

brave

Who planned, arose, and battled to be free,

Fell undeterred, then sadly turned

to thee; — Saved the free spirit from their

country's grave. To rise again, and animate the

slave.

When God shall ripen all things. Britons, ye Who guard the sacred outpost, not in vain

Hold your proud peril! Freemen undefiled.

Keep watch and ward! Let battlements be piled Around your cliffs; fleets marshalled, till the main

Sink under them; and if your courage wane,

Through force or fraud, look westward to your child!

LOVE SONNETS.

How canst thou call my modest love impure,

Being thyself the holy source of all?

Can ugly darkness from the fair

sun fall? Or nature's compact be so insecure, That saucy weeds may sprout up

and endure Where gentle flowers were sown?

The brooks that crawl, With lazy whispers, through the

lilies tall. Or rattle o'er the pebbles, will

allure

With no feigned sweetness, if their fount be sweet. So thou, the sun whence all my light doth flow—

Thou, sovereign law by which my fancies grow — Thou, fount of every feeling, slow or fleet —

Against thyself would'st aim a

treacherous blow, Slaying thy honor with thy own

conceit.

Why shall I chide the hand of wilful Time

When he assaults thy wondrous

store of charms? Why charge the gray-beard with a

wanton crime? Or strive to daunt him with my

shrill alarms? Or seek to lull him with a silly

rhyme:

So he, forgetful, pause upon his arms.

And leave thy beauties in their

noble prime. The sole survivors of his grievous

harms?

Alas! my love, though I'll indeed bemoan

The fatal ruin of thy majesty; Yet I'll remember that to Time alone

I owed thy birth, thy charms' maturity,

Thy crowning love, with which he

vested me. Nor can reclaim, though all the

rest be flown.

In this deep hush-and quiet of my soul.

When life runs low, and all my

senses stay Their daily riot; when my wearied

clay

Resigns its functions, and, without
control

Of selfish passion, my essential whole
Rises in purity, to make survey
Of those poor deeds that wear my

days away; When in my ear I hear the distant toll

Of bells that murmur of my coming knell.

And all things seem a show and

mockery — Life, and life's actions, noise and

vanity;

I ask my mournful heart if it can tell if all be truth which I protest to thee:

And my heart answers, solemnly, ""lis well."

I Have been mounted on life's topmost wave,

Until my forehead kissed the dazzling cloud;

I have been dashed beneath the murky shroud

That yawns between the watery crests. I rave, Sometimes, like cursed Orestes; sometimes lave

My limbs in dews of asphodel; or, bowed

With torrid heat, I moan to heaven aloud,

Or shrink with Winter in his icy cave.

Now peace broods over me; now savage rage

Spurns me across the world. Nor

am I free From nightly visions, when the

pictured page Of sleep unfolds its varied leaves to

me.

Changing as often as the mimic stage; —

And all this, lady, through my love for thee I

Sometimes, in bitter fancy, I bewail This spell of love, and wish the

cause removed; Wish I had never seen, or, seeing,

not loved So utterly that passion should prevail

O'er self-regard, and thoughts of

thee assail Those inmost barriers which so

long have proved Unconquerable, when such defence

behoved.

But, ah! my treacherous heart doth ever fail To ratify the sentence of my mind; For when conviction strikes me to the core,

I swear I love thee fondlier than before;

And were I now all free and unconfined,

Loose as the action of the homeless wind,

My slavish heart would sigh for bonds once more.

An! let me live on memories of old,-.

The precious relics I have set aside From life's poor venture; things

that yet abide My ill-paid labor, shining, like pure

gold.

Amid the dross of cheated hopes whose hold

Dropped at the touch of action.
Let me glide

Down the smooth past, review that day of pride

When each to each our mutual passion told— When love grew frenzy in thy blazing eye,

Fear shone heroic, caution quailed before

My hot, resistless kisses — when we bore

Time, conscience, destiny, down, down for aye.

Beneath victorious love, and thou didst cry,

"Strike, God! life's cup is running o'er and o'er."

DIRGE FOR A SOLDIER.

Close his eyes; his work is done!

What to him is friend or foeman. Rise of moon, or set of sun, Hand of man, or kiss of woman? Lay him low, lay him low, In the clover or the snow! What cares he? he cannot know: Lay him low!

As man may, he fought his fight,

Proved his truth by his endeavor; Let him sleep in solemn night, Sleep forever, and forever. Lay him low, lay him low, In the clover or the snowl What cares he? he cannot know: Lay him low!

Fold him in his country's stars,
Roll the drum and fire the vol-
ley!

What to him are all our wars,
What but death-beinocking folly?

Lay him low, lay him low,
In the clover or the snow!
What cares he? he cannot know:
Lay him low!

Leave him to God's watching eye, Trust him to the hand that made him.

Mortal love weeps idly by:
God alone has power to aid him.
Lay him low, lay him low,
In the clover or the snow!
What cares he? he cannot know:
Lay him lowl

HORATIUS BONAR.

A LITTLE WHILE.

Beyond the smiling and the weeping

I shall be soon; Beyond the waking and the sleeping, Beyond the sowing and the reaping, I shall be soon. Loce, rest, and home! Sweet hope!

Lord, tarry not, but come.

Beyond the blooming and the fading

I shall be soon; Beyond the shining and the shading, Beyond the hoping and the dreading, I shall be soon, Loce, rest, and home! Sweet hope!

Lord, tarry not, but come.

Beyond the rising and the setting

I shall be soon. Beyond the calming and the fretting, Beyond remembering and forgetting, I shall be soon. Loce, rest, and home! Sweet hope!

Lord, tarry not, but come.

Beyondthe gatheringand the strowing

I shall be soon; Beyond the ebbing and the flowing, Beyond the coming and the going,

I shall be soon.

Lote, rest, and home I
Sweet hope!

Lord, tarry not, but come.

Beyond the parting and the meeting

I shall be soon; Beyond the farewell and the greeting, Beyond this pulse's fever-beating, I shall be soon. Love, rest, and home I Sweet hope!

Lord, tarry not, but come.

Beyond the frost-chain and the fever

I shall be soon; Beyond the rock-waste and the river. Beyond the ever and the never, I shall be soon. Love, rest, and home I sweet hope!

Lord, tarry not, but come.

THE INNER CALM.

Calm me, my God, and keep me calm, While these hot breezes blow;

Be like the night-dew's cooling balm Upon earth's fevered brow.

Calm me, my God, and keep me calm, Soft resting on thy breast;

Soothe me with holy hymn and psalm And bid my spirit rest,

Calm me, my God, and keep me calm,

Let thine outstretched wing Be like the shade of Elim's palm Beside her desert spring.

Yes, keep me calm, though loud and rude.

The sounds my ear that greet, Calm in the closet's solitude, Calm in the bustling street;

Calm in the hour of buoyant health,

Calm in my hour of pain, Calm in my poverty or wealth,

Calm in my loss or gain;

Calm in the sufferance of wrong,
Like Him who bore my shame,

Calm mid the threatening, taunting
throng.
Who hate thy holy name;

Calm when the great world's news with power

My listening spirit stir;
Let not the tidings of the hour

E'er find too fond an ear;

Calm as the ray of sun or star
Which storms assail in vain,

Moving unruffled through earth's war,
The eternal calm to gain.

Helen Barron Bostwick.

crr As i.

'Tis a story told by Kalldasa,—

Hindoo poet—in melodious rhyme, how with train of maidens, young Urvasi

Came to keep great Indra's festal time.

'T was her part in worshipful confession

Of the god-name on that sacred day, Walking flower-crowned in the long procession, "I love Puru-shotta-ma" to say.

Pure as snow on Himalayan ranges. Heaven-descended, soon to heaven

withdrawn, Fairer than the moon-flower of the

Ganges,

Was Urvasi, Daughter of the Dawn.

But it happened that the gentle maiden

Loved one Puru-avas,—fateful

name! —

And her heart, with its sweet secret laden,

Faltered when her time of utterance came.

"I love" — then she stopped, and people wondered; "I love "— she must guard her secret well; Then from sweetest lips that ever blundered, "I love Puru-avas," trembling fell.

Ah, what terror seized on poor Avast !

Misty grew the violets of her eyes, And her form bent like a broken daisy While around her rose the mocking cries.

But great Indra said, "The maid shall marry Him whose image in her faithful heart

She so near to that of God doth carry, Scarce her lips can keep their names apart."

Call it then not weakness or dissentbling

If, in striving the high name to reach,

Through our voices runs the tender trembling Of an earthly name too dear for speech!

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