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They may follow on his track,

As a silver-hearted bell, But He never will come back,

Or to follow its low swell, Never again!

When, as dreamy winds that stray

Fainting 'mid Æolian chords, “ Youth is gone away,

Inner music seemed to play Cruel cruel Youth,

Symphony to all his words ; Full of gentleness and ruth

In his hand was poised a spear, Did we think him all his stay ;

Deftly poised, as to appear How had he the heart to wreak

Resting of its proper will,Such a wo on us so weak,

Thus a merry hunter still, He that was so tender-meek ?

And engarlanded with bay, How could he be made to learn

Must our Youth have gone away, To find pleasure in our pain ?

Tho' we half remember now, Could he leave us, to return

He had borne some little while Never again!

Something mournful in his smile

Something serious on his brow : “ Bow your heads very low,

Gentle Heart, perhaps he knew Solemn-measured be your paces,

The cruel deed he was about to do! Gathered up in grief your faces,

Now, between us all and Him Sing sad music as ye go ;

There are rising mountains dim, In disordered handfuls strew

Forests of uncounted trees, Strips of cypress, sprigs of rue ;

Spaces of uumeasured seas; In your hands be borne the bloom,

Think, with Him how gay of yore Whose long petals once and only

We made sunshine out of shade, Look from their pale-leaved tomb

Think with Him how light we bore In the darkness lonely;

All the burden sorrow laid ; Let the nightshade's beaded coral

All went happily about Him,Fall in melancholy moral

How shall we toil on without Him ? Your wan brows around,

How without his cheering eye While in very scorn ye fling

Constant strength embreathing ever ? The amaranth upon the ground

How without Him standing by As an unbelieved thing;

Aiding every hard endeavour ? What care we for its fair tale

For when faintness or disease Of beauties that can never fail,

Had usurped upon our knees, Glories that can never wane ?

If he deigned our lips to kiss No such blooms are on the track

With those living lips of his, He has past, who will come back

We were lightened of our pain, Never again!

We were up and hale again :

Now, without one blessing glance Alas, we know not how he went,

From his rose-lit countenance,
We knew not he was going,

We shall die, deserted men,
For had our tears once found a vent, And not see him, even then !
We had stayed him with their flowing. We are cold, very cold,
It was as an earthquake, when

All our blood is drying old,
We awoke and found him gone,

And a terrible heart-dearth We were miserable men,

Reigns for us in heaven and earth : We were hopeless, every one !

Forth we stretch our chilly fingers Yes, he must have gone away

In poor effort to attain In his guise of every day,

Tepid embers, where still lingers In his common dress, the same

Some preserving warmth, in vain. Perfect face and perfect frame ;

Oh! if Love, the Sister dear For in feature, for in limb,

Of Youth that we have lost, Who could be compared to him ?

Come not in swift pity here, Firm his step, as one who knows

Come not, with a host He is free, where'er he goes,

Of Affections, strong and kind, And withal as light of spring

To hold up our sinking mind, At the arrow from the string ;

If She will not, of her grace, His impassioned eye had got

Take her Brother's holy place, Fire which the sun has not ;

And be to us, at least a part Silk to feel, and gold to see,

Of what he was, in Life and Heart, Fell his tresses full and free,

The faintpess that is on our breath
Like the morning mists that glide

Can have no other end but Death.”
Soft adown the mountain's side ;
Most delicious 'twas to hear

We read these lines without fearing When his voice was trilling clear,

to let all their pathos fall upon our spirits-for into its depths should that Yon orb, but now who swept the East, pathos sink, it will find there a repose with train of ruby and amethyst, it cannot disturb, or a trouble it can. Rides on, unweariedly as ever, not allay. The truths they tell have O'er frowning rock, and glitt'ring river; been so long familiar there, that we Those trees, I own, are somewhat higher,seem to hear but our own voice again

bear but our own voice again The ivy round the village spire giving utterance to thoughts that for

to thoughts that for In fuller-clust'ring leaf has grown, many years have lain silent, but alive,

We cannot call that cot our own,in their cells—like slumberers awak

But what has changed in this sweet glen ened at midnight by solemn music,

As we from what our hearts were then ? listing up their heads for a while to

Say you, the glow of hope is bright, listen, and then laying them down to

And if it be a meteor light, relapse into the same dreams that had

That hurtles through the thick’ning sky,

'Tis wise to catch it ere it die ? possessed their sleep. But ye who are

Tell you me, 'tis a joy to feel still young-yet have begun to expe

Our toil increase a fellow's weal ? rience how sad it is and mournful ex- That, 'mid these fainting, fading, bowers. ceedingly to regret, perhaps to weep There linger still some am’ranth flowers, over, the passing away and the past, And honest will, and honest prayer, because that something was that never will find them lurking every where ?more may be-ponder ye on the strain, Say on, I can but add, Amen,and lay the moral, the religious lesson We are not now as we were then. it teaches within your hearts. So may the sadness sanctify-and the “ Oh, Brother! when I gaze upon Spirits that God sends to minister un. These tombs of little blisses gone, to us children of the dust, find you When, through the dense and steamy air, willing to be comforted, when Youth Which we with men are wont to share, has left you, heedless if to despair- A breeze of distant youth has stole for Angel though he seem, he is not of

In freshness on my fevered soul, heaven--but of heaven are they, and I feel like one who long has lain therefore immortal.

With madness gath'ring in his brain, Now receive into your hearts, O

And, bursting from the strong distress, Youths !-undivided by any commen.

Wakes to a terrible consciousness.

Then blame you, that my pulse beat now, tary of ours-these three strains po.

Blame you the agony on my brow ? tent in the peace they breathe—and

There was, when fear was all a stranger, verily, even in this noisy world the

Ere knowledge showed the way to dangerpeaceful are the strong. The first, it

When love was firm - when faith was sure, is true, speaks of change, decay, and And head and heart alike secure ;trouble and the second is saddened But now, ... Remember you a flower by the melancholy which imagination which we with care, from sun and often carries into the heart—but the shower, third is elevating and ennobling—and It was our mother's,-loved to guard, the three, thus read as one, leave the And how we joyed in our reward, spirit calm, and prepared to face the When first we watcht its bloom appear, future in the confidence of love and When it was old so many a year ; truth.

And how we heard, with tearful eye,
The good old gardener's prophecy,-
For he was deep in nature's lore,

That that bright plant would bloom no “ Six years, six cycles of dead hours,

more? Six falls of leaves, six births of flowers, The flowers fell off, – the stalk was gaIt is not that, you know full well,

thered,That makes my lab'ring bosom swell, The root grew dry,—the lank leaves wi'Tis not the memory of lost Time,

Since last I heard that matin chime, And, sad to lose its only pride,
That brings to sense a sleeping sorrow, The poor Agave sunk and died :
To bid this long-left scene good-morrow Our one, our only bloom is gone,
It is the curse to feel as men,

But, Brother, still we linger on.
And be not now, as we were then,
The snowy down on yonder hill

“ Between the cradle and the shroud, Through thousand suinmers glistens If chance, amid the pilgrim crowd, sti!,

Though strange the time and strange the Yon stream will ne'er to time surrender place, Its rapid path of diamond splendour, We light on some familiar face,


Once loved and known, as friend knows Little of care or thought are wanted friend,

To guard its beauty fresh and whole; In whom a thousand memories blend, But when the one empassioned age Which whilom slumbered dull and dim, Has full revealed the magic bloom, But rise in light and cling to him ;

A wise and holy tutelage Though not a trait of old as wont,

Alone can shun the open tomb, Though care has knit the ample front, And vice unstrung the well-toned frame, “ It is not Absence you should dread, Still something, something is the same. For Absence is the very air But if we ever hope to find

In which, if sound at root, the hear! Some traces in that life-worn mind

Shall wave most wonderful and fair ; Of its pure self, its simple being,

With sympathies of joy and sorrow Such as it was, when, unforeseeing,

Fed, as with morn and even dews, We thought that Nature's laws would fail, Ideal colouring it may borrow Ere Sin could make its boldness quail ; Richer than ever earthly hues. Such as it was, ere sensuous things Had clipt the bird of Eden's wings, “ But oft the plant, whose leaves unsere Ere stifled groan and secret sigh

Refresh the desert, hardly brooks Replaced the tear so soon brusht by, The common-peopled atmosphere 'Tis vain,-alas, for human shame! Of daily thoughts and words and looks ; There nothing, nothing is the same. It trembles at the brushing wings

Of many a careless fashion-fly, O that the painter's fav’rite scheme And strange suspicions aim their stings Were not alone a painter's dream!

To taint it as they wanton by, O that the Paradise he feigns, Where Innocence with Childhood reigns, “ Rare is the heart to bear a flower, And cherub forms and infant guise

That must not wholly fall and fade, Inclose the heart divinely wise,

Where alien feelings, hour by hour, Were not alone a Poet's creed,

Spring up, beset, and overshade ;
No symbol, but a truth indeed!

Better, a child of care and toil,
That all this circling life might close To glorify some needy spot,
Its wearied course where first it rose, Than in a glad redundant soil
And that our second life must be

To pine neglected and forgot.
A new, eternal, infancy,
Keeping the bliss we lose as men,

“ Yet when, at last, by human slight, To be for aye as we were then 1"

Or close of their permitted day,
From the sweet world of life and light

Such fine creations lapse away, -

Bury the relics that retain

Sick odours of departed pride, " When first the Friendship-flower is Hoard as ye will your memory's gain, planted

But let them perish where they died.” Within the garden of your soul,


We read together, reading the same book,
Our heads bent forward in a hall embrace,
So that each shade that either spirit took
Was straight reflected in the other's face;
We read, not silent, nor aloud, but each
Followed the eye that passed the page along,
With a low murmuring sound, that was not speech,

Yet with so much monotony,
In its half slumbering harmony,
You might not call it song ;

More like a bee, that in the noon rejoices,
Than any customed mood of human voices.

“ Then if some wayward or disputed sense
Made cease awhile that music, and brought on
A strife of gracious-worded difference,
Too light to hurt our souls' dear unison,

We had experience of a blissful state,
In which our powers of thought stood separate,
Each, in its own high freedom, set apart,
But both close folded in one loving heart;
So that we seemed, without conceit, to be
Both one and two in our identity.

“ We prayed together, praying the same prayer,
But each that prayed did seem to be alone,
And saw the other in a golden air
Poised far away, beneath a vacant throne,
Becko'ning the kneeler to arise and sit
Within the glory which encompast it :
And when obeyed, the Vision stood beside,
And led the way through the upper hyaline,
Smiling in beauty tenfold glorified,
Which, while on earth, had seemed enough divine,
The beauty of the Spirit-Bride,
Who guided the rapt Florentine.

“ The depth of human reason must become
As deep as is the holy human heart,
Ere aught in written phrases can impart
The might and meaning of that ecstasy
To those low souls, who hold the mystery
Of the unseen universe for dark and dumb.

“ But we were mortal still, and when again
We raised onr bended knees, I do not say
That our descending spirits felt no pain
To meet the dimness of an earthly day;
Yet not as those disheartened, and the more
Debased, the higher that they rose before,
But, from the exaltation of that hour,
Out of God's choicest treasury, bringing down
New virtue to sustain all ill,-new power
To braid Life's thorns into a regal crown,
We past into the outer world, to prove
The strength miraculous of united Love."

Strange that with all our love of though we look with delight on the nature, and of art, we never were a work when done by others--the pic. Painter. True that in boyhood we ture without the process—the pro. were no contemptible hand at a Lion duct of genius, without thought of its or a Tiger-and sketches by us of mortal instruments. We work in such cats springing or preparing to words, and words are, in good truth, spring in keelavine, dashed off some images, feelings, thoughts; and of fifty or sixty years ago, might well these the outer world as well as make Edwin Landseer stare. Even the inner is composed, let materialists yet we are a sort of Salvator Rosa at say what they will. Prose is poetryà savage scene, and our black - lead we have proved that to the satisfaction pencil heaps up confused shatterings of all mankind. Look! we beseech of rocks, and flings a mountainous you-how the little Loch seems to rise region into convulsions, as if an earth- up with its tall heronry-a central isle quake heaved, in a way that is no canny, and all its sylvan braes, till it lies making people shudder as if something almost on a level with the floor of our had gone wrong with this planet of Cave, from which in three minutes we ours, and creation were falling back could hobble on our crutch down the into chaos. But we love scenes of inclining greensward to the Bay of beautiful repose too profoundly ever Waterlilies, and in that canoe be afloat to dream of “ transferring them to among the Swans. All birches-not canvass.” Such employment would any other kind of tree-except the be felt by us to be desecration- pines, on whose tops the large nests re

pose—and here and there a still bird “A man's best things are nearest him, standing as if asleep. What a place Lie close about his feet, for Roes!

It is the distant and the dim Why, we are absolutely writing an That we are sick to greet : article, and to fill a sheet how pleasant For flowers that grow our hands bencath to have recourse again to such a man We struggle and aspire, as Milnes! Thus

Our hearts must die, except they breathe

The air of fresh Desire.

“ But, Brothers, who up Reason's hill “I know not that the men of old

Advance with hopeful cheer,Were better than men now,

O ! loiter not, those heights are chill, Of heart more kind, of hand more bold,

As chill as they are clear ; Of more ingenuous brow:

And still restrain your haughty gaze, I heed not those who pine for force

The loftier that ye go, A ghost of Time to raise,

Remembe’ring distance leaves a haze As if they thus could check the course

On all that lies below." Of these appointed days.

Think not that we should have “ Still is it true, and over true,

wearied of our own company in this That I delight to close

Cave, had we been without a mateThis book of life self-wise and new,

rial book. In our mind is a library And let my thoughts repose On all that humble happiness,

of other substance and we are alThe world has since foregone,

ways in a state of clairvoyance. We The daylight of contentedness

have been reading Milnes now with That on those faces shone!

the palm of our hand-but that is With rights, tho'not too closely scanned, merely because the volume bappens Enjoyed, as far as known,

to be on the table—we see through With will by no reverse unmanned,

Shakspeare, and Milton, and Spenser, With pulse of even tone,

and Wordsworth, in the niche yonThey from to-day and from to-night der-nor need they be there-for Expected nothing more,

with shut eyes we can read in to ourThan yesterday and yesternight

selves the Paradise Lost, and the ExHad proffered them before.

cursion, and the Fairy Queen, and the

Tempest, in editions out of print, and “ To them was life a simple art

that we never saw-what think you Of duties to be done,

of that, Dupotet ? Doctors ElliotA game where each man took his part,

son and Lardner, pray hold your peace. A race where all must run;

We tie our black silk neckerchief A battle whose great scheme and scope

round our eyes-till we are as blind They little cared to know,

as a mole, a bat, or as an impostorContent, as men at arms, to cope Each with his fronting foe.

turn you up “ Poems of many Years"

--correct us if we err in a single syl“ Man now his Virtue's diac'em

lable and hearken to Christopher in Puts on and proudly wears,

his Cave—spiritually not animally Great thoughts, great feelings, came to magnetized - reading the " Lay of them,

the Humble" — with his thumb!
Like instincts, unawares :
Blending their souls' sublimest needs

With tasks of every day,
They went about their gravest deeds, “ I have no comeliness of frame,
As noble boys at play. -

No pleasant range of feature;

I'am feeble, as when first I came “ And what if Nature's fearful wound To earth, a weeping creature; They did not probe and bare,

My voice is low whene'er I speak,
For that their spirits never swooned And singing faint my song ;
To watch the misery there,

But though thus cast among the weak, For that their love but flowed more I envy not the strong.

fast, Their charities more free,

“ The trivial part in life I play Not conscious what merd drops they can have so light a bearing cast

On other men, who, night or day, Into the evil sea,

For me are never caring;

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