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His chamber in the silent halls of The wide old wood from his majes

death,

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tic rest,

Summoning, from the innumerable boughs,

strange, deep harmonies that haunt his breast:

Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly bows

shutting flower, and darkling waters pass,

And where the o'ershadowing branches sweep the grass.

The faint old man shall lean his silver head

To feel thee; thou shalt kiss the child asleep,

And dry the moistened curls that overspread

His temples, while his breathing

grows more deep:

And they who stand about the sick man's bed,

Shall joy to listen to thy distant

sweep,

And softly part his curtains to allow Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow.

Go-but the circle of eternal change, Which is the life of nature, shall restore,

With sounds and scents from all thy mighty range,

Thee to thy birthplace of the deep

once more;

Sweet odors in the sea-air, sweet and strange,

Shall tell the home-sick mariner of the shore;

And, listening to thy murmur, he shall deem

He hears the rustling leaf and running stream.

LIFE.

Он, Life, I breathe thee in the breeze, I feel thee bounding in my veins,

I see thee in these stretching trees, These flowers, this still rock's mossy stains.

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death,

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All that shall live, lie mingled THOU blossom bright with autumn there,

dew,

blue,

Beneath that veil of bloom and And colored with the heaven's own breath, That living zone 'twixt earth and That openest when the quiet light air. Succeeds the keen and frosty night.

There lies my chamber dark and Thou comest not when violets lean

still,

The atoms trampled by my feet, There wait, to take the place I fill In the sweet air and sunshine

sweet.

O'er wandering brooks and springs

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Thou waitest late and com'st alone, When woods are bare and birds are flown.

And frosts and shortening days portend

The aged year is near his end.

Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye Look through its fringes to the sky, Blue-blue-as if that sky let fall A flower from its cerulean wall.

I would that thus, when I shall see The hour of death draw near to me, Hope, blossoming within my heart, May look to heaven as I depart.

THE CROWDED STREET.

LET me move slowly through the street,

Filled with an ever-shifting train, Amid the sound of steps that beat The murmuring walks like autumn rain.

How fast the flitting figures come!

The mild, the fierce, the stony face; Some bright with thoughtless smiles, and some

Where secret tears have left their

trace.

They pass to toil, to strife, to rest; To halls in which the feast is spread;

To chambers where the funeral guest In silence sits beside the dead.

And some to happy homes repair, Where children, pressing cheek to cheek,

With mute caresses shall declare

The tenderness they cannot speak.

And some, who walk in calmness here, Shall shudder as they reach the door

Where one who made their dwelling dear,

Its flower, its light, is seen no

more.

Youth, with pale cheek and slender frame,

And dreams of greatness in thine eye!

Goest thou to build an early name,

Or early in the task to die?

Keen son of trade, with eager brow! Who is now fluttering in thy snare? Thy golden fortunes, tower they now, Or melt the glittering spires in air?

Who of this crowd to-night shall tread

The dance till daylight gleam

again?

Who sorrow o'er the untimely dead? Who writhe in throes of mortal pain ?

Some, famine-struck, shall think how long

The cold dark hours, how slow the light!

And some who flaunt amid the throng,

Shall hide in dens of shame tonight.

Each, where his tasks or pleasures call,

They pass and heed each other not. There is who heeds, who holds them all,

In His large love and boundless thought.

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For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless pain

If there I meet thy gentle presence not;

Nor hear the voice I love, nor read again

In thy serenest eyes the tender thought.

Yet though thou wearest the glory of the sky,

Wilt thou not keep the same beloved name,

The same fair thoughtful brow, and gentle eye,

Lovelier in heaven's sweet climate, yet the same?

Will not thy own meek heart demand Shalt thou not teach me, in that

me there?

That heart whose fondest throbs

to me were given ?

calmer home,

The wisdom that I learned so ill in this

My name on earth was ever in thy The wisdom which is love-till I

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become

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Timidly shrinking from the breath Her glory is not of this shadowy

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state

Glory that with the fleeting season dies;

But when she entered at the sapphire gate

What joy was radiant in celestial eyes!

How heaven's bright depths with sounding welcomes rung, And flowers of heaven by shining hands were flung;

And He who, long before, Pain, scorn, and sorrow bore, The Mighty Sufferer, with aspect sweet,

Smiled on the timid stranger from his seat;

He who returning, glorious, from the grave,

Dragged Death, disarmed, in chains, a crouching slave.

See, as I linger here, the sun grows low;

Cool airs are murmuring that the night is near.

Oh, gentle sleeper, from thy grave I go

Consoled though sad, in hope and

yet in fear.

Brief is the time, I know,

The warfare scarce begun; Yet all may win the triumphs thou

hast won.

Still flows the fount whose waters strengthened thee;

The victors' names are yet too few to fill

Heaven's mighty roll; the glorious armory,

That ministered to thee is open still.

[From an unfinished poem.] AN EVENING REVERY.

THE summer day is closed-the sun is set;

Well they have done their office, those bright hours,

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