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And the widow's sob and the orphan's | Now changed the scene and changed the wail jarred through the joyous air; How could the light wind o'er the sea, blow on so fresh and fair? How could the gay waves laugh and leap, landward o'er sand and stone, While he, who knew and loved them all lay lapped in clay alone?


But for long, when to the beetling heights
the snow-tipped billows roll,
When the cod, and skate, and dogfish dart
around the herring shoal;

When gear is sorted, and sails are set,
and the merry breezes blow,
And away to the deep sea-harvest the
stalwart reapers go,

A kindly sigh, and a hearty word, they
will give to him who lies
Where the clover springs, and the heather
blooms, beneath the northern skies.



LONG years ago I wandered here,
In the midsummer of the year, —
Life's summer too;

A score of horsemen here we rode,
The mountain world its glories showed,
All fair to view.

These scenes in glowing colors drest,
Mirrored the life within my breast,
Its world of hopes;

The whispering woods and fragrant breeze
That stirred the grass in verdant seas
On billowy slopes,

And glistening crag in sunlit sky,
Mid snowy clouds piled mountains high,
Were joys to me;

My path was o'er the prairie wide,
Or here on grander mountain-side,
To choose, all free.

The rose that waved in morning air,
And spread its dewy fragrance there
In careless bloom,
Gave to my heart its ruddiest hue,
O'er my glad life its color threw
And sweet perfume.

That here once looked on glowing skies,
Where summer smiled;

These riven trees, this wind-swept plain
Now show the winter's dread domain,
Its fury wild.

The rocks rise black from storm-packed


All checked the river's pleasant flow,
Vanished the bloom;
These dreary wastes of frozen plain
Reflect my bosom's life again,
Now lonesome gloom.

The buoyant hopes and busy life
Have ended all in hateful strife,
And thwarted aim.

The world's rude contact killed the rose,
No more its radiant color shows
False roads to fame.

Backward, amidst the twilight glow
Some lingering spots yet brightly show
On hard roads won,
Where still some grand peaks mark the way
Touched by the light of parting day
And memory's sun.

But here thick clouds the mountains hide,
The dim horizon bleak and wide
No pathway shows,

And rising gusts, and darkening sky,
Tell of "the night that cometh," nigh,
The brief day's close.



WE left the city, street and square,
With lamplights glimmering through
and through,

And turned us toward the suburb,

Full from the east-the fresh wind blew.

One cloud stood overhead the sun, ——

A glorious trail of dome and spire, The last star flickered, and was gone;

The first lark led the matin choir.

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The sea has been friend, and fire, and bread;

Put me, where it will tell of me, lying


How It called, and I rose and went.



[U. s. A.]


SWEET Wind, fair wind, where have you been? "I've been sweeping the cobwebs out of the sky; I've been grinding a grist in the mill hard by; I've been laughing at work while others sigh;

Let those laugh who win!"

Sweet rain, soft rain, what are you doing? "I'm urging the corn to fill out its cells; I'm helping the lily to fashion its bells; I'm swelling the torrent and brimming the wells;

Is that worth pursuing?"

Redbreast, red breast, what have you done? "I've been watching the nest where my fledgelings lie; I've sung them to sleep with a lullaby; By and by I shall teach them to fly, Up and away, every one!" Honey-bee, honey-bee, where are you going?

"To fill my basket with precious pelf; To toil for my neighbor as well as myself; To find out the sweetest flower that grows, Be it a thistle or be it a rose, —

A secret worth the knowing!"

Each content with the work to be done,
Ever the same from sun to sun:
Shall you and I be taught to work
By the bee and the bird, that scorn to

Wind and rain fulfilling His word! Tell me, was ever a legend heard Where the wind, commanded to blow, deferred; Or the rain, that was bidden to fall, demurred?


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"And yet for days it seems my heart shall | That while they nobly held it as each blossom never more,

And the burden of my loneliness lies on

man can do and bear, It did not wholly fall my side as though

no man were there.

me very sore:

Therefore, O hewer of the stones that
pave base human ways,
How canst thou bear the years till death,
made of such thankless days?"

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Soul-stirring recollections,

With hopes, their bright reflections. Rush to my troubled heart at thought of thee,

My own illustrious, injured Italy.

Dear queen of snowy mountains,
And consecrated fountains,
Within whose rocky, heaven-aspiring pale
Beauty has fixed a dwelling
All others so excelling

To praise it right, thine own sweet tones would fail;

Hail to thee! hail!

How rich art thou in lakes to poet dear,

And those broad pines amid the sunniest glade

So reigning through the year,
Within the magic circle of their shade
No sunbeam may appear!
How fair thy double sea!
In blue celestially

Glittering and circling! but I may not


On gifts, which, decking thee too

Allured the spoiler. Let me fix my ken
Rather upon thy godlike men,
The good, the wise, the valiant, and the


On history's pillars towering gloriously,
A trophy reared on high upon thy strand,
That every people, every clime
May mark and understand,
What memorable courses may be run,
What golden never-failing treasures won,
From time,

In spite of chance,

And worser ignorance,

If men be ruled by Duty's firm decree,
And wisdom hold her paramount mas-


What art thou now? Alas! Alas!
Woe, woe!
STRIKE the loved harp; let the prelude That strength and virtue thus should pass
From men below!
Italy! Italy!

That chord again, again that note of glee,-
Italy! Italy!

That so divine, so beautiful a Maid
Should in the withering dust be laid,
As one that Hush! who dares with
impious breath

Italy! O Italy! the very sound it charm-
Italy! O Italy! the name my bosom

To speak of death?

The fool alone and unbeliever weepeth.
We know she only sleepeth;
And from the dust,

High thought of self-devotions,
Compassionate emotions,

At the end of her correction,

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