"Nor vainly, sovereign of the sea, Did Eros send his shafts to thee What time the rain of gold, Bright Helle, with her brother bore, How stirred the waves she wandered o'er, How stirred thy deeps of old! Swift, by the maiden's charms subdued, Thou cam'st from out the gloomy waves, And in thy mighty arms, she sank Into thy bridal caves."

"A goddess with a god, to keep In endless youth, beneath the deep, Her solemn ocean-court! And still she smooths thine angry tides, Tames thy wild heart, and favoring guides The sailor to the port! Beautiful Helle, bright one, hear Thy lone adoring suppliant pray! And guide, O goddess—guide my love Along the wonted way!"

Now twilight dims the waters' flow, And from the tower, the beacon's glow Waves flickering o'er the main. Ah, where athwart the dismal stream, Shall shine the beacon's faithful beam The lover's eyes shall strain! Hark! sounds moan threatening from afar— From heaven the blessed stars are gone— More darkly swells the rising sea The tempest labors on!

Along the ocean's boundless plains Lies night—in torrents rush the rains From the dark-bosomed cloud— Red lightning skirs the panting air, And, loosed from out their rocky lair, Sweep all the storms abroad. Huge wave on huge wave tumbling o'er, The yawning gulf is rent asunder, And shows, as through an opening pall, Grim earth—the ocean under!

Poor maiden! bootless wail or vow— "Have mercy, Jove—be gracious, thou! Dread prayer was mine before!" What if the gods have heard—and he, Lone victim of the stormy sea, Now struggles to the shore! There's not a sea-bird on the wave— Their hurrying wings the shelter seek; The stoutest ship the storms have proved, Takes refuge in the creek.

"Ah, still that heart, which oft has braved The danger where the daring saved, Love lureth o'er the sea;— For many a vow at parting morn, That naught but death should bar return, Breathed those dear lips to me; And whirled around, the while I weep, Amid the storm that rides the wave, The giant gulf is grasping down The rash one to the grave!

"False Pontus! and the calm I hailed, The awaiting murder darkly veiled— The lulled pellucid flow, The smiles in which thou wert arrayed, Were but the snares that love betrayed To thy false realm below! Now in the midway of the main, Return relentlessly forbidden, Thou loosenest on the path beyond The horrors thou hadst hidden."

Loud and more loud the tempest raves In thunder break the mountain waves, White-foaming on the rock— No ship that ever swept the deep Its ribs of gnarled oak could keep Unshattered by the shock. Dies in the blast the guiding torch To light the struggler to the strand; 'Tis death to battle with the wave, And death no less to land!

On Venus, daughter of the seas, She calls the tempest to appease— To each wild-shrieking wind Along the ocean-desert borne, She vows a steer with golden horn— Vain vow—relentless wind! On every goddess of the deep, On all the gods in heaven that be, She calls—to soothe in calm, awhile The tempest-laden sea!

"Hearken the anguish of my cries! From thy green halls, arise—arise, Leucothoe the divine! Who, in the barren main afar, Oft on the storm-beat mariner Dost gently-saving shine. Oh,—reach to him thy mystic veil, To which the drowning clasp may cling, And safely from that roaring grave, To shore my lover bring!"

And now the savage winds are hushing. And o'er the arched horizon, blushing, Day's chariot gleams on high! Back to their wonted channels rolled, In crystal calm the waves behold One smile on sea and sky! All softly breaks the rippling tide, Low-murmuring on the rocky land, And playful wavelets gently float A corpse upon the strand!

'Tis he!—who even in death would still Not fail the sweet vow to fulfil; She looks—sees—knows him there! From her pale lips no sorrow speaks, No tears glide down her hueless cheeks; Cold-numbed in her despair— She looked along the silent deep, She looked upon the brightening heaven, Till to the marble face the soul Its light sublime had given!

"Ye solemn powers men shrink to name, Your might is here, your rights ye claim— Yet think not I repine Soon closed my course; yet I can bless The life that brought me happiness— The fairest lot was mine! Living have I thy temple served, Thy consecrated priestess been— My last glad offering now receive Venus, thou mightiest queen!"

Flashed the white robe along the air, And from the tower that beetled there She sprang into the wave; Roused from his throne beneath the waste, Those holy forms the god embraced— A god himself their grave! Pleased with his prey, he glides along— More blithe the murmured music seems, A gush from unexhausted urns His everlasting streams!



CASSANDRA.

Mirth the halls of Troy was filling, Ere its lofty ramparts fell; From the golden lute so thrilling Hymns of joy were heard to swell. From the sad and tearful slaughter All had laid their arms aside, For Pelides Priam's daughter Claimed then as his own fair bride.

Laurel branches with them bearing, Troop on troop in bright array To the temples were repairing, Owning Thymbrius' sovereign sway. Through the streets, with frantic measure, Danced the bacchanal mad round, And, amid the radiant pleasure, Only one sad breast was found.

Joyless in the midst of gladness, None to heed her, none to love, Roamed Cassandra, plunged in sadness, To Apollo's laurel grove. To its dark and deep recesses Swift the sorrowing priestess hied, And from off her flowing tresses Tore the sacred band, and cried:

"All around with joy is beaming, Ev'ry heart is happy now, And my sire is fondly dreaming, Wreathed with flowers my sister's brow I alone am doomed to wailing, That sweet vision flies from me; In my mind, these walls assailing, Fierce destruction I can see."

"Though a torch I see all-glowing, Yet 'tis not in Hymen's hand; Smoke across the skies is blowing, Yet 'tis from no votive brand. Yonder see I feasts entrancing, But in my prophetic soul, Hear I now the God advancing, Who will steep in tears the bowl!"

"And they blame my lamentation, And they laugh my grief to scorn; To the haunts of desolation I must bear my woes forlorn. All who happy are, now shun me, And my tears with laughter see; Heavy lies thy hand upon me, Cruel Pythian deity!"

"Thy divine decrees foretelling, Wherefore hast thou thrown me here, Where the ever-blind are dwelling, With a mind, alas, too clear? Wherefore hast thou power thus given, What must needs occur to know? Wrought must be the will of Heaven— Onward come the hour of woe!"

"When impending fate strikes terror, Why remove the covering? Life we have alone in error, Knowledge with it death must bring. Take away this prescience tearful, Take this sight of woe from me; Of thy truths, alas! how fearful 'Tis the mouthpiece frail to be!"

"Veil my mind once more in slumbers Let me heedlessly rejoice; Never have I sung glad numbers Since I've been thy chosen voice. Knowledge of the future giving, Thou hast stolen the present day, Stolen the moment's joyous living,— Take thy false gift, then, away!"

"Ne'er with bridal train around me, Have I wreathed my radiant brow, Since to serve thy fane I bound me— Bound me with a solemn vow. Evermore in grief I languish— All my youth in tears was spent; And with thoughts of bitter anguish My too-feeling heart is rent."

"Joyously my friends are playing, All around are blest and glad, In the paths of pleasure straying,— My poor heart alone is sad. Spring in vain unfolds each treasure, Filling all the earth with bliss; Who in life can e'er take pleasure, When is seen its dark abyss?"

"With her heart in vision burning, Truly blest is Polyxene, As a bride to clasp him yearning. Him, the noblest, best Hellene! And her breast with rapture swelling, All its bliss can scarcely know; E'en the Gods in heavenly dwelling Envying not, when dreaming so."

"He to whom my heart is plighted Stood before my ravished eye, And his look, by passion lighted, Toward me turned imploringly. With the loved one, oh, how gladly Homeward would I take my flight But a Stygian shadow sadly Steps between us every night."

"Cruel Proserpine is sending All her spectres pale to me; Ever on my steps attending Those dread shadowy forms I see. Though I seek, in mirth and laughter Refuge from that ghastly train, Still I see them hastening after,— Ne'er shall I know joy again."

"And I see the death-steel glancing, And the eye of murder glare; On, with hasty strides advancing, Terror haunts me everywhere. Vain I seek alleviation;— Knowing, seeing, suffering all, I must wait the consummation, In a foreign land must fall."

While her solemn words are ringing, Hark! a dull and wailing tone From the temple's gate upspringing,— Dead lies Thetis' mighty son! Eris shakes her snake-locks hated, Swiftly flies each deity, And o'er Ilion's walls ill-fated Thunder-clouds loom heavily!



THE HOSTAGE.

A BALLAD.

The tyrant Dionys to seek, Stern Moerus with his poniard crept; The watchful guard upon him swept; The grim king marked his changeless cheek: "What wouldst thou with thy poniard? Speak!" "The city from the tyrant free!" "The death-cross shall thy guerdon be."

"I am prepared for death, nor pray," Replied that haughty man, "I to live; Enough, if thou one grace wilt give For three brief suns the death delay To wed my sister—leagues away; I boast one friend whose life for mine, If I should fail the cross, is thine."

The tyrant mused,—and smiled,—and said With gloomy craft, "So let it be; Three days I will vouchsafe to thee. But mark—if, when the time be sped, Thou fail'st—thy surety dies instead. His life shall buy thine own release; Thy guilt atoned, my wrath shall cease."

He sought his friend—"The king's decree Ordains my life the cross upon Shall pay the deed I would have done; Yet grants three days' delay to me, My sister's marriage-rites to see; If thou, the hostage, wilt remain Till I—set free—return again!"

His friend embraced—No word he said, But silent to the tyrant strode— The other went upon his road. Ere the third sun in heaven was red, The rite was o'er, the sister wed; And back, with anxious heart unquailing, He hastes to hold the pledge unfailing.

Down the great rains unending bore, Down from the hills the torrents rushed, In one broad stream the brooklets gushed. The wanderer halts beside the shore, The bridge was swept the tides before— The shattered arches o'er and under Went the tumultuous waves in thunder.

Dismayed he takes his idle stand— Dismayed, he strays and shouts around; His voice awakes no answering sound. No boat will leave the sheltering strand, To bear him to the wished-for land; No boatman will Death's pilot be; The wild stream gathers to a sea!

Sunk by the banks, awhile he weeps, Then raised his arms to Jove, and cried, "Stay thou, oh stay the maddening tide; Midway behold the swift sun sweeps, And, ere he sinks adown the deeps, If I should fail, his beams will see My friend's last anguish—slain for me!"

More fierce it runs, more broad it flows, And wave on wave succeeds and dies And hour on hour remorseless flies; Despair at last to daring grows— Amidst the flood his form he throws; With vigorous arms the roaring waves Cleaves—and a God that pities, saves.

He wins the bank—he scours the strand, He thanks the God in breathless prayer; When from the forest's gloomy lair, With ragged club in ruthless hand, And breathing murder—rushed the band That find, in woods, their savage den, And savage prey in wandering men.

"What," cried he, pale with generous fear; "What think to gain ye by the strife? All I bear with me is my life— I take it to the king!"—and here He snatched the club from him most near: And thrice he smote, and thrice his blows Dealt death—before him fly the foes!

The sun is glowing as a brand; And faint before the parching heat, The strength forsakes the feeble feet: "Thou hast saved me from the robbers' hand, Through wild floods given the blessed land; And shall the weak limbs fail me now? And he!—Divine one, nerve me, thou!"

Hark! like some gracious murmur by, Babbles low music, silver-clear— The wanderer holds his breath to hear; And from the rock, before his eye, Laughs forth the spring delightedly; Now the sweet waves he bends him o'er, And the sweet waves his strength restore.

Through the green boughs the sun gleams dying, O'er fields that drink the rosy beam, The trees' huge shadows giant seem. Two strangers on the road are hieing; And as they fleet beside him flying, These muttered words his ear dismay: "Now—now the cross has claimed its prey!"

Despair his winged path pursues, The anxious terrors hound him on— There, reddening in the evening sun, From far, the domes of Syracuse!— When towards him comes Philostratus (His leal and trusty herdsman he), And to the master bends his knee.

"Back—thou canst aid thy friend no more, The niggard time already flown— His life is forfeit—save thine own! Hour after hour in hope he bore, Nor might his soul its faith give o'er; Nor could the tyrant's scorn deriding, Steal from that faith one thought confiding!"

"Too late! what horror hast thou spoken! Vain life, since it cannot requite him! But death with me can yet unite him; No boast the tyrant's scorn shall make— How friend to friend can faith forsake. But from the double death shall know, That truth and love yet live below!"

The sun sinks down—the gate's in view, The cross looms dismal on the ground— The eager crowd gape murmuring round. His friend is bound the cross unto. . . . Crowd—guards—all bursts he breathless through: "Me! Doomsman, me!" he shouts, "alone! His life is rescued—lo, mine own!"

Amazement seized the circling ring! Linked in each other's arms the pair— Weeping for joy—yet anguish there! Moist every eye that gazed;—they bring The wondrous tidings to the king— His breast man's heart at last hath known, And the friends stand before his throne.

Long silent, he, and wondering long, Gazed on the pair—"In peace depart, Victors, ye have subdued my heart! Truth is no dream!—its power is strong. Give grace to him who owns his wrong! 'Tis mine your suppliant now to be, Ah, let the band of love—be three!" [37]



GREEKISM.

Scarce has the fever so chilly of Gallomania departed, When a more burning attack in Grecomania breaks out. Greekism,—what did it mean?—'Twas harmony, reason, and clearness! Patience,—good gentlemen, pray, ere ye of Greekism speak! 'Tis for an excellent cause ye are fighting, and all that I ask for Is that with reason it ne'er may be a laughing-stock made.



THE DIVER.

A BALLAD.

"What knight or what vassal will be so bold As to plunge in the gulf below? See! I hurl in its depths a goblet of gold, Already the waters over it flow. The man who can bring back the goblet to me, May keep it henceforward,—his own it shall be."

Thus speaks the king, and he hurls from the height Of the cliffs that, rugged and steep, Hang over the boundless sea, with strong might, The goblet afar, in the bellowing deep. "And who'll be so daring,—I ask it once more,— As to plunge in these billows that wildly roar?"

And the vassals and knights of high degree Hear his words, but silent remain. They cast their eyes on the raging sea, And none will attempt the goblet to gain. And a third time the question is asked by the king: "Is there none that will dare in the gulf now to spring?"

Yet all as before in silence stand, When a page, with a modest pride, Steps out of the timorous squirely band, And his girdle and mantle soon throws aside, And all the knights, and the ladies too, The noble stripling with wonderment view.

And when he draws nigh to the rocky brow, And looks in the gulf so black, The waters that she had swallowed but now, The howling Charybdis is giving back; And, with the distant thunder's dull sound. From her gloomy womb they all-foaming rebound.

And it boils and it roars, and it hisses and seethes, As when water and fire first blend; To the sky spurts the foam in steam-laden wreaths, And wave presses hard upon wave without end. And the ocean will never exhausted be, As if striving to bring forth another sea.

But at length the wild tumult seems pacified, And blackly amid the white swell A gaping chasm its jaws opens wide, As if leading down to the depths of hell: And the howling billows are seen by each eye Down the whirling funnel all madly to fly.

Then quickly, before the breakers rebound, The stripling commends him to Heaven, And—a scream of horror is heard around,— And now by the whirlpool away he is driven, And secretly over the swimmer brave Close the jaws, and he vanishes 'neath the dark wave.

O'er the watery gulf dread silence now lies, But the deep sends up a dull yell, And from mouth to mouth thus trembling it flies: "Courageous stripling, oh, fare thee well!" And duller and duller the howls recommence, While they pause in anxious and fearful suspense.

"If even thy crown in the gulf thou shouldst fling, And shouldst say, 'He who brings it to me Shall wear it henceforward, and be the king,' Thou couldst tempt me not e'en with that precious foe; What under the howling deep is concealed To no happy living soul is revealed!"

Full many a ship, by the whirlpool held fast, Shoots straightway beneath the mad wave, And, dashed to pieces, the hull and the mast Emerge from the all-devouring grave,— And the roaring approaches still nearer and nearer, Like the howl of the tempest, still clearer and clearer.

And it boils and it roars, and it hisses and seethes, As when water and fire first blend; To the sky spurts the foam in steam-laden wreaths, And wave passes hard upon wave without end. And, with the distant thunder's dull sound, From the ocean-womb they all-bellowing bound.

And lo! from the darkly flowing tide Comes a vision white as a swan, And an arm and a glistening neck are descried, With might and with active zeal steering on; And 'tis he, and behold! his left hand on high Waves the goblet, while beaming with joy is his eye.

Then breathes he deeply, then breathes he long, And blesses the light of the day; While gladly exclaim to each other the throng: "He lives! he is here! he is not the sea's prey! From the tomb, from the eddying waters' control, The brave one has rescued his living soul!"

And he comes, and they joyously round him stand; At the feet of the monarch he falls,— The goblet he, kneeling, puts in his hand, And the king to his beauteous daughter calls, Who fills it with sparkling wine to the brim; The youth turns to the monarch, and speaks thus to him:

"Long life to the king! Let all those be glad Who breathe in the light of the sky! For below all is fearful, of moment sad; Let not man to tempt the immortals e'er try, Let him never desire the thing to see That with terror and night they veil graciously."

"I was torn below with the speed of light, When out of a cavern of rock Rushed towards me a spring with furious might; I was seized by the twofold torrent's wild shock, And like a top, with a whirl and a bound, Despite all resistance, was whirled around."

"Then God pointed out,—for to Him I cried In that terrible moment of need,— A craggy reef in the gulf's dark side; I seized it in haste, and from death was then freed. And there, on sharp corals, was hanging the cup,— The fathomless pit had else swallowed it up."

"For under me lay it, still mountain-deep, In a darkness of purple-tinged dye, And though to the ear all might seem then asleep With shuddering awe 'twas seen by the eye How the salamanders' and dragons' dread forms Filled those terrible jaws of hell with their swarms."

"There crowded, in union fearful and black, In a horrible mass entwined, The rock-fish, the ray with the thorny back, And the hammer-fish's misshapen kind, And the shark, the hyena dread of the sea, With his angry teeth, grinned fiercely on me."

"There hung I, by fulness of terror possessed, Where all human aid was unknown, Amongst phantoms, the only sensitive breast, In that fearful solitude all alone, Where the voice of mankind could not reach to mine ear, 'Mid the monsters foul of that wilderness drear."

"Thus shuddering methought—when a something crawled near, And a hundred limbs it out-flung, And at me it snapped;—in my mortal fear, I left hold of the coral to which I had clung; Then the whirlpool seized on me with maddened roar, Yet 'twas well, for it brought me to light once more."

The story in wonderment hears the king, And he says, "The cup is thine own, And I purpose also to give thee this ring, Adorned with a costly, a priceless stone, If thou'lt try once again, and bring word to me What thou saw'st in the nethermost depths of the sea."

His daughter hears this with emotions soft, And with flattering accent prays she: "That fearful sport, father, attempt not too oft! What none other would dare, he hath ventured for thee; If thy heart's wild longings thou canst not tame, Let the knights, if they can, put the squire to shame."

The king then seizes the goblet in haste, In the gulf he hurls it with might: "When the goblet once more in my hands thou hast placed, Thou shalt rank at my court as the noblest knight, And her as a bride thou shalt clasp e'en to-day, Who for thee with tender compassion doth pray."

Then a force, as from Heaven, descends on him there, And lightning gleams in his eye, And blushes he sees on her features so fair, And he sees her turn pale, and swooning lie; Then eager the precious guerdon to win, For life or for death, lo! he plunges him in!

The breakers they hear, and the breakers return, Proclaimed by a thundering sound; They bend o'er the gulf with glances that yearn, And the waters are pouring in fast around; Though upwards and downwards they rush and they rave, The youth is brought back by no kindly wave.



THE KNIGHT OF TOGGENBURG.

A BALLAD.

"I Can love thee well, believe me, As a sister true; Other love, Sir Knight, would grieve me, Sore my heart would rue. Calmly would I see thee going, Calmly, too, appear; For those tears in silence flowing Find no answer here."

Thus she speaks,—he hears her sadly,— How his heartstrings bleed! In his arms he clasps her madly, Then he mounts his steed. From the Switzer land collects he All his warriors brave;— Cross on breast, their course directs he To the Holy Grave.

In triumphant march advancing, Onward moves the host, While their morion plumes are dancing Where the foes are most. Mortal terror strikes the Paynim At the chieftain's name; But the knight's sad thoughts enchain him— Grief consumes his frame.

Twelve long months, with courage daring, Peace he strives to find; Then, at last, of rest despairing, Leaves the host behind; Sees a ship, whose sails are swelling, Lie on Joppa's strand; Ships him homeward for her dwelling, In his own loved land.

Now behold the pilgrim weary At her castle gate! But alas! these accents dreary Seal his mournful fate:— "She thou seek'st her troth hath plighted To all-gracious heaven; To her God she was united Yesterday at even!"

To his father's home forever Bids he now adieu; Sees no more his arms and beaver, Nor his steed so true. Then descends he, sadly, slowly,— None suspect the sight,— For a garb of penance lowly Wears the noble knight.

Soon he now, the tempest braving, Builds an humble shed, Where o'er the lime-trees darkly waving, Peeps the convent's head. From the orb of day's first gleaming, Till his race has run, Hope in every feature beaming, There he sits alone.

Toward the convent straining ever His unwearied eyes,— From her casement looking never Till it open flies, Till the loved one, soft advancing, Shows her gentle face, O'er the vale her sweet eye glancing, Full of angel-grace.

Then he seeks his bed of rushes, Stilled all grief and pain, Slumbering calm, till morning's blushes Waken life again. Days and years fleet on, yet never Breathes he plaint or sighs, On her casement gazing ever Till it open flies.

Till the loved one, soft advancing, Shows her gentle face, O'er the vale her sweet eyes glancing, Full of angel-grace. But at length, the morn returning Finds him dead and chill;— Pale and wan, his gaze, with yearning, Seeks her casement still.



THE FIGHT WITH THE DRAGON.

Why run the crowd? What means the throng That rushes fast the streets along? Can Rhodes a prey to flames, then, be? In crowds they gather hastily, And, on his steed, a noble knight Amid the rabble, meets my sight; Behind him—prodigy unknown!— A monster fierce they're drawing on; A dragon stems it by its shape, With wide and crocodile-like jaw, And on the knight and dragon gape, In turns, the people, filled with awe.

And thousand voices shout with glee "The fiery dragon come and see, Who hind and flock tore limb from limb!— The hero see, who vanquished him! Full many a one before him went, To dare the fearful combat bent, But none returned home from the fight; Honor ye, then, the noble knight!" And toward the convent move they all, While met in hasty council there The brave knights of the Hospital, St. John the Baptist's Order, were.

Up to the noble master sped The youth, with firm but modest tread; The people followed with wild shout, And stood the landing-place about, While thus outspoke that daring one: "My knightly duty I have done. The dragon that laid waste the land Has fallen beneath my conquering hand. The way is to the wanderer free, The shepherd o'er the plains may rove; Across the mountains joyfully The pilgrim to the shrine may move."

But sternly looked the prince, and said: "The hero's part thou well hast played By courage is the true knight known,— A dauntless spirit thou hast shown. Yet speak! What duty first should he Regard, who would Christ's champion be, Who wears the emblem of the Cross?"— And all turned pale at his discourse. Yet he replied, with noble grace, While blushingly he bent him low: "That he deserves so proud a place Obedience best of all can show."

"My son," the master answering spoke, "Thy daring act this duty broke. The conflict that the law forbade Thou hast with impious mind essayed."— "Lord, judge when all to thee is known," The other spake, in steadfast tone,— "For I the law's commands and will Purposed with honor to fulfil. I went not out with heedless thought. Hoping the monster dread to find; To conquer in the fight I sought By cunning, and a prudent mind."

"Five of our noble Order, then (Our faith could boast no better men), Had by their daring lost their life, When thou forbadest us the strife. And yet my heart I felt a prey To gloom, and panted for the fray; Ay, even in the stilly night, In vision gasped I in the fight; And when the glimmering morning came, And of fresh troubles knowledge gave, A raging grief consumed my frame, And I resolved the thing to brave."

"And to myself I thus began: 'What is't adorns the youth, the man? What actions of the heroes bold, Of whom in ancient song we're told, Blind heathendom raised up on high To godlike fame and dignity? The world, by deeds known far and wide, From monsters fierce they purified; The lion in the fight they met, And wrestled with the minotaur, Unhappy victims free to set, And were not sparing of their gore.'"

"'Are none but Saracens to feel The prowess of the Christian steel? False idols only shall be brave? His mission is the world to save; To free it, by his sturdy arm, From every hurt, from every harm; Yet wisdom must his courage bend, And cunning must with strength contend.' Thus spake I oft, and went alone The monster's traces to espy; When on my mind a bright light shone,— 'I have it!' was my joyful cry."

"To thee I went, and thus I spake: 'My homeward journey I would take.' Thou, lord, didst grant my prayer to me,— Then safely traversed I the sea; And, when I reached my native strand, I caused a skilful artist's hand To make a dragon's image, true To his that now so well I knew. On feet of measure short was placed Its lengthy body's heavy load; A scaly coat of mail embraced The back, on which it fiercely showed."

"Its stretching neck appeared to swell, And, ghastly as a gate of hell, Its fearful jaws were open wide, As if to seize the prey it tried; And in its black mouth, ranged about, Its teeth in prickly rows stood out; Its tongue was like a sharp-edged sword, And lightning from its small eyes poured; A serpent's tail of many a fold Ended its body's monstrous span, And round itself with fierceness rolled, So as to clasp both steed and man."

"I formed the whole to nature true, In skin of gray and hideous hue; Part dragon it appeared, part snake, Engendered in the poisonous lake. And, when the figure was complete, A pair of dogs I chose me, fleet, Of mighty strength, of nimble pace, Inured the savage boar to chase; The dragon, then, I made them bait, Inflaming them to fury dread, With their sharp teeth to seize it straight, And with my voice their motions led."

"And, where the belly's tender skin Allowed the tooth to enter in, I taught them how to seize it there, And, with their fangs, the part to tear. I mounted, then, my Arab steed, The offspring of a noble breed; My hand a dart on high held forth, And, when I had inflamed his wrath, I stuck my sharp spurs in his side, And urged him on as quick as thought, And hurled my dart in circles wide As if to pierce the beast I sought."

"And though my steed reared high in pain, And champed and foamed beneath the rein, And though the dogs howled fearfully, Till they were calmed ne'er rested I. This plan I ceaselessly pursued, Till thrice the moon had been renewed; And when they had been duly taught, In swift ships here I had them brought; And since my foot these shores has pressed Flown has three mornings' narrow span; I scarce allowed my limbs to rest Ere I the mighty task began."

"For hotly was my bosom stirred When of the land's fresh grief I heard; Shepherds of late had been his prey, When in the marsh they went astray. I formed my plans then hastily,— My heart was all that counselled me. My squires instructing to proceed, I sprang upon my well-trained steed, And, followed by my noble pair Of dogs, by secret pathways rode, Where not an eye could witness bear, To find the monster's fell abode."

"Thou, lord, must know the chapel well, Pitched on a rocky pinnacle, That overlooks the distant isle; A daring mind 'twas raised the pile. Though humble, mean, and small it shows Its walls a miracle enclose,— The Virgin and her infant Son, Vowed by the three kings of Cologne. By three times thirty steps is led The pilgrim to the giddy height; Yet, when he gains it with bold tread, He's quickened by his Saviour's sight."

"Deep in the rock to which it clings, A cavern dark its arms outflings, Moist with the neighboring moorland's dew, Where heaven's bright rays can ne'er pierce through. There dwelt the monster, there he lay, His spoil awaiting, night and day; Like the hell-dragon, thus he kept Watch near the shrine, and never slept; And if a hapless pilgrim chanced To enter on that fatal way, From out his ambush quick advanced The foe, and seized him as his prey."

"I mounted now the rocky height; Ere I commenced the fearful fight, There knelt I to the infant Lord, And pardon for my sins implored. Then in the holy fane I placed My shining armor round my waist, My right hand grasped my javelin, The fight then went I to begin; Instructions gave my squires among, Commanding them to tarry there; Then on my steed I nimbly sprung, And gave my spirit to God's care."

"Soon as I reached the level plain, My dogs found out the scent amain; My frightened horse soon reared on high,— His fear I could not pacify, For, coiled up in a circle, lo! There lay the fierce and hideous foe, Sunning himself upon the ground. Straight at him rushed each nimble hound; Yet thence they turned, dismayed and fast, When he his gaping jaws op'd wide, Vomited forth his poisonous blast, And like the howling jackal cried."

"But soon their courage I restored; They seized with rage the foe abhorred, While I against the beast's loins threw My spear with sturdy arm and true: But, powerless as a bulrush frail, It bounded from his coat of mail; And ere I could repeat the throw, My horse reeled wildly to and fro Before his basilisk-like look, And at his poison-teeming breath,— Sprang backward, and with terror shook, While I seemed doomed to certain death."

"Then from my steed I nimbly sprung, My sharp-edged sword with vigor swung; Yet all in vain my strokes I plied,— I could not pierce his rock-like hide. His tail with fury lashing round, Sudden he bore me to the ground. His jaws then opening fearfully, With angry teeth he struck at me; But now my dogs, with wrath new-born, Rushed on his belly with fierce bite, So that, by dreadful anguish torn, He howling stood before my sight."

"And ere he from their teeth was free, I raised myself up hastily, The weak place of the foe explored, And in his entrails plunged my sword, Sinking it even to the hilt; Black gushing forth, his blood was spilt. Down sank he, burying in his fall Me with his body's giant ball, So that my senses quickly fled; And when I woke with strength renewed, The dragon in his blood lay dead, While round me grouped my squires all stood."

The joyous shouts, so long suppressed, Now burst from every hearer's breast, Soon as the knight these words had spoken; And ten times 'gainst the high vault broken, The sound of mingled voices rang, Re-echoing back with hollow clang. The Order's sons demand, in haste, That with a crown his brow be graced, And gratefully in triumph now The mob the youth would bear along When, lo! the master knit his brow, And called for silence 'mongst the throng.

And said, "The dragon that this land Laid waste, thou slew'st with daring hand; Although the people's idol thou, The Order's foe I deem thee now. Thy breast has to a fiend more base Than e'en this dragon given place. The serpent that the heart most stings, And hatred and destruction brings, That spirit is, which stubborn lies, And impiously cast off the rein, Despising order's sacred ties; 'Tis that destroys the world amain."

"The Mameluke makes of courage boast, Obedience decks the Christian most; For where our great and blessed Lord As a mere servant walked abroad, The fathers, on that holy ground, This famous Order chose to found, That arduous duty to fulfil To overcome one's own self-will! 'Twas idle glory moved thee there: So take thee hence from out my sight! For who the Lord's yoke cannot bear, To wear his cross can have no right."

A furious shout now raise the crowd, The place is filled with outcries loud; The brethren all for pardon cry; The youth in silence droops his eye— Mutely his garment from him throws, Kisses the master's hand, and—goes. But he pursues him with his gaze, Recalls him lovingly, and says: "Let me embrace thee now, my son! The harder fight is gained by thee. Take, then, this cross—the guerdon won By self-subdued humility."



FEMALE JUDGMENT.

Man frames his judgment on reason; but woman on love founds her verdict; If her judgment loves not, woman already has judged.



FRIDOLIN; OR, THE WALK TO THE IRON FOUNDRY.

A gentle was Fridolin, And he his mistress dear, Savern's fair Countess, honored in All truth and godly fear. She was so meek, and, ah! so good! Yet each wish of her wayward mood, He would have studied to fulfil, To please his God, with earnest will.

From the first hour when daylight shone Till rang the vesper-chime, He lived but for her will alone, And deemed e'en that scarce time. And if she said, "Less anxious be!" His eye then glistened tearfully. Thinking that he in duty failed, And so before no toil he quailed.

And so, before her serving train, The Countess loved to raise him; While her fair mouth, in endless strain, Was ever wont to praise him. She never held him as her slave, Her heart a child's rights to him gave; Her clear eye hung in fond delight Upon his well-formed features bright.

Soon in the huntsman Robert's breast Was poisonous anger fired; His black soul, long by lust possessed, With malice was inspired; He sought the Count, whom, quick in deed, A traitor might with ease mislead, As once from hunting home they rode, And in his heart suspicion sowed.

"Happy art thou, great Count, in truth," Thus cunningly he spoke; "For ne'er mistrust's envenomed tooth Thy golden slumbers broke; A noble wife thy love rewards, And modesty her person guards. The tempter will be able ne'er Her true fidelity to snare."

A gloomy scowl the Count's eye filled: "What's this thou say'st to me? Shall I on woman's virtue build, Inconstant as the sea? The flatterer's mouth with ease may lure; My trust is placed on ground more sure. No one, methinks, dare ever burn To tempt the wife of Count Savern."

The other spoke: "Thou sayest it well, The fool deserves thy scorn Who ventures on such thoughts to dwell, A mere retainer born,— Who to the lady he obeys Fears not his wishes' lust to raise."— "What!" tremblingly the Count began, "Dost speak, then, of a living man?"—

"Is, then, the thing, to all revealed, Hid from my master's view? Yet, since with care from thee concealed, I'd fain conceal it too"— "Speak quickly, villain! speak or die!" Exclaimed the other fearfully. "Who dares to look on Cunigond?" "'Tis the fair page that is so fond."

"He's not ill-shaped in form, I wot," He craftily went on; The Count meanwhile felt cold and hot, By turns in every bone. "Is't possible thou seest not, sir, How he has eyes for none but her? At table ne'er attends to thee, But sighs behind her ceaselessly?"

"Behold the rhymes that from him came His passion to confess"— "Confess!"—"And for an answering flame,— The impious knave!—to press. My gracious lady, soft and meek, Through pity, doubtless, feared to speak; That it has 'scaped me, sore I rue; What, lord, canst thou to help it do?"

Into the neighboring wood then rode The Count, inflamed with wrath, Where, in his iron foundry, glowed The ore, and bubbled forth. The workmen here, with busy hand, The fire both late and early fanned. The sparks fly out, the bellows ply, As if the rock to liquefy.

The fire and water's might twofold Are here united found; The mill-wheel, by the flood seized hold, Is whirling round and round; The works are clattering night and day, With measured stroke the hammers play, And, yielding to the mighty blows, The very iron plastic grows.

Then to two workmen beckons he, And speaks thus in his ire; "The first who's hither sent by me Thus of ye to inquire 'Have ye obeyed my lord's word well?' Him cast ye into yonder hell, That into ashes he may fly, And ne'er again torment mine eye!"

The inhuman pair were overjoyed, With devilish glee possessed For as the iron, feeling void, Their heart was in their breast, And brisker with the bellows' blast, The foundry's womb now heat they fast, And with a murderous mind prepare To offer up the victim there.

Then Robert to his comrade spake, With false hypocrisy: "Up, comrade, up! no tarrying make! Our lord has need of thee." The lord to Fridolin then said: "The pathway toward the foundry tread, And of the workmen there inquire, If they have done their lord's desire."

The other answered, "Be it so!" But o'er him came this thought, When he was all-prepared to go, "Will she command me aught?" So to the Countess straight he went: "I'm to the iron-foundry sent; Then say, can I do aught for thee? For thou 'tis who commandest me."

To this the Lady of Savern Replied in gentle tone: "To hear the holy mass I yearn, For sick now lies my son; So go, my child, and when thou'rt there, Utter for me a humble prayer, And of thy sins think ruefully, That grace may also fall on me."

And in this welcome duty glad, He quickly left the place; But ere the village bounds he had Attained with rapid pace, The sound of bells struck on his ear, From the high belfry ringing clear, And every sinner, mercy-sent, Inviting to the sacrament.

"Never from praising God refrain Where'er by thee He's found!" He spoke, and stepped into the fane, But there he heard no sound; For 'twas the harvest time, and now Glowed in the fields the reaper's brow; No choristers were gathered there, The duties of the mass to share.

The matter paused he not to weigh, But took the sexton's part; "That thing," he said, "makes no delay Which heavenward guides the heart." Upon the priest, with helping hand, He placed the stole and sacred band, The vessels he prepared beside, That for the mass were sanctified.

And when his duties here were o'er, Holding the mass-book, he, Ministering to the priest, before The altar bowed his knee, And knelt him left, and knelt him right, While not a look escaped his sight, And when the holy Sanctus came, The bell thrice rang he at the name.

And when the priest, bowed humbly too, In hand uplifted high, Facing the altar, showed to view The present Deity, The sacristan proclaimed it well, Sounding the clearly-tinkling bell, While all knelt down, and beat the breast, And with a cross the Host confessed.

The rites thus served he, leaving none, With quick and ready wit; Each thing that in God's house is done, He also practised it. Unweariedly he labored thus, Till the Vobiscum Dominus, When toward the people turned the priest, Blessed them,—and so the service ceased.

Then he disposed each thing again, In fair and due array; First purified the holy fane, And then he went his way, And gladly, with a mind at rest, On to the iron-foundry pressed, Saying the while, complete to be, Twelve paternosters silently.

And when he saw the furnace smoke, And saw the workmen stand, "Have ye, ye fellows," thus he spoke, "Obeyed the Count's command?" Grinning they ope the orifice, And point into the fell abyss: "He's cared for—all is at an end! The Count his servants will commend."

The answer to his lord he brought, Returning hastily, Who, when his form his notice caught, Could scarcely trust his eye: "Unhappy one! whence comest thou?"— "Back from the foundry"—"Strange, I vow! Hast in thy journey, then, delayed?"— "'Twas only, lord, till I had prayed."

"For when I from thy presence went (Oh pardon me!) to-day, As duty bid, my steps I bent To her whom I obey. She told me, lord, the mass to hear, I gladly to her wish gave ear, And told four rosaries at the shrine, For her salvation and for thine."

In wonder deep the Count now fell, And, shuddering, thus spake he: "And, at the foundry, quickly tell, What answer gave they thee?" "Obscure the words they answered in,— Showing the furnace with a grin: 'He's cared for—all is at an end! The Count his servants will commend.'"

"And Robert?" interrupted he, While deadly pale he stood,— "Did he not, then, fall in with thee? I sent him to the wood."— "Lord, neither in the wood nor field Was trace of Robert's foot revealed."— "Then," cried the Count, with awe-struck mien, "Great God in heaven his judge hath been!"

With kindness he before ne'er proved, He led him by the hand Up to the Countess,—deeply moved,— Who naught could understand. "This child, let him be dear to thee, No angel is so pure as he! Though we may have been counselled ill, God and His hosts watch o'er him still."



THE GENIUS WITH THE INVERTED TORCH.

Lovely he looks, 'tis true, with the light of his torch now extinguished; But remember that death is not aesthetic, my friends!



THE COUNT OF HAPSBURG. [38]

A BALLAD.

At Aix-la-Chapelle, in imperial array, In its halls renowned in old story, At the coronation banquet so gay King Rudolf was sitting in glory. The meats were served up by the Palsgrave of Rhine, The Bohemian poured out the bright sparkling wine, And all the Electors, the seven, Stood waiting around the world-governing one, As the chorus of stars encircle the sun, That honor might duly be given.

And the people the lofty balcony round In a throng exulting were filling; While loudly were blending the trumpets' glad sound, The multitude's voices so thrilling; For the monarchless period, with horror rife, Has ended now, after long baneful strife, And the earth had a lord to possess her. No longer ruled blindly the iron-bound spear, And the weak and the peaceful no longer need fear Being crushed by the cruel oppressor.

And the emperor speaks with a smile in his eye, While the golden goblet he seizes: "With this banquet in glory none other can vie, And my regal heart well it pleases; Yet the minstrel, the bringer of joy, is not here, Whose melodious strains to my heart are so dear, And whose words heavenly wisdom inspire; Since the days of my youth it hath been my delight, And that which I ever have loved as a knight, As a monarch I also require."

And behold! 'mongst the princes who stand round the throne Steps the bard, in his robe long and streaming, While, bleached by the years that have over him flown, His silver locks brightly are gleaming; "Sweet harmony sleeps in the golden strings, The minstrel of true love reward ever sings, And adores what to virtue has tended— What the bosom may wish, what the senses hold dear; But say, what is worthy the emperor's ear At this, of all feasts the most splendid?"

"No restraint would I place on the minstrel's own choice," Speaks the monarch, a smile on each feature; "He obeys the swift hour's imperious voice, Of a far greater lord is the creature. For, as through the air the storm-wind on-speeds,— One knows not from whence its wild roaring proceeds— As the spring from hid sources up-leaping, So the lay of the bard from the inner heart breaks While the might of sensations unknown it awakes, That within us were wondrously sleeping."

Then the bard swept the cords with a finger of might, Evoking their magical sighing: "To the chase once rode forth a valorous knight, In pursuit of the antelope flying. His hunting-spear bearing, there came in his train His squire; and when o'er a wide-spreading plain On his stately steed he was riding, He heard in the distance a bell tinkling clear, And a priest, with the Host, he saw soon drawing near, While before him the sexton was striding."

"And low to the earth the Count then inclined, Bared his head in humble submission, To honor, with trusting and Christian-like mind, What had saved the whole world from perdition. But a brook o'er the plain was pursuing its course, That swelled by the mountain stream's headlong force, Barred the wanderer's steps with its current; So the priest on one side the blest sacrament put, And his sandal with nimbleness drew from his foot, That he safely might pass through the torrent."

"'What wouldst thou?' the Count to him thus began, His wondering look toward him turning: 'My journey is, lord, to a dying man, Who for heavenly diet is yearning; But when to the bridge o'er the brook I came nigh, In the whirl of the stream, as it madly rushed by With furious might 'twas uprooted. And so, that the sick the salvation may find That he pants for, I hasten with resolute mind To wade through the waters barefooted.'"

"Then the Count made him mount on his stately steed, And the reins to his hands he confided, That he duly might comfort the sick in his need, And that each holy rite be provided. And himself, on the back of the steed of his squire, Went after the chase to his heart's full desire, While the priest on his journey was speeding And the following morning, with thankful look, To the Count once again his charger he took, Its bridle with modesty leading."

"'God forbid that in chase or in battle,' then cried The Count with humility lowly, 'The steed I henceforward should dare to bestride That had borne my Creator so holy! And if, as a guerdon, he may not be thine, He devoted shall be to the service divine, Proclaiming His infinite merit, From whom I each honor and earthly good Have received in fee, and my body and blood, And my breath, and my life, and my spirit.'"

"'Then may God, the sure rock, whom no time can e'er move, And who lists to the weak's supplication, For the honor thou pay'st Him, permit thee to prove Honor here, and hereafter salvation! Thou'rt a powerful Count, and thy knightly command Hath blazoned thy fame through the Switzer's broad land; Thou art blest with six daughters admired; May they each in thy house introduce a bright crown, Filling ages unborn with their glorious renown'— Thus exclaimed he in accents inspired."

And the emperor sat there all-thoughtfully, While the dream of the past stood before him; And when on the minstrel he turned his eye, His words' hidden meaning stole o'er him; For seeing the traits of the priest there revealed, In the folds of his purple-dyed robe he concealed His tears as they swiftly coursed down. And all on the emperor wonderingly gazed, And the blest dispensations of Providence praised, For the Count and the Caesar were one.



THE FORUM OF WOMAN.

Woman, never judge man by his individual actions; But upon man as a whole, pass thy decisive decree.



THE GLOVE.

A TALE.

Before his lion-court, Impatient for the sport, King Francis sat one day; The peers of his realm sat around, And in balcony high from the ground Sat the ladies in beauteous array.

And when with his finger he beckoned, The gate opened wide in a second,— And in, with deliberate tread, Enters a lion dread, And looks around Yet utters no sound; Then long he yawns And shakes his mane, And, stretching each limb, Down lies he again.

Again signs the king,— The next gate open flies, And, lo! with a wild spring, A tiger out hies. When the lion he sees, loudly roars he about, And a terrible circle his tail traces out. Protruding his tongue, past the lion he walks, And, snarling with rage, round him warily stalks: Then, growling anew, On one side lies down too.

Again signs the king,— And two gates open fly, And, lo! with one spring, Two leopards out hie. On the tiger they rush, for the fight nothing loth, But he with his paws seizes hold of them both. And the lion, with roaring, gets up,—then all's still; The fierce beasts stalk around, madly thirsting to kill.

From the balcony raised high above A fair hand lets fall down a glove Into the lists, where 'tis seen The lion and tiger between.

To the knight, Sir Delorges, in tone of jest, Then speaks young Cunigund fair; "Sir Knight, if the love that thou feel'st in thy breast Is as warm as thou'rt wont at each moment to swear, Pick up, I pray thee, the glove that lies there!"

And the knight, in a moment, with dauntless tread, Jumps into the lists, nor seeks to linger, And, from out the midst of those monsters dread, Picks up the glove with a daring finger.

And the knights and ladies of high degree With wonder and horror the action see, While he quietly brings in his hand the glove, The praise of his courage each mouth employs; Meanwhile, with a tender look of love, The promise to him of coming joys, Fair Cunigund welcomes him back to his place. But he threw the glove point-blank in her face: "Lady, no thanks from thee I'll receive!" And that selfsame hour he took his leave.



THE CIRCLE OF NATURE.

All, thou gentle one, lies embraced in thy kingdom; the graybeard Back to the days of his youth, childish and child-like, returns.



THE VEILED STATUE AT SAIS.

A youth, impelled by a burning thirst for knowledge To roam to Sais, in fair Egypt's land, The priesthood's secret learning to explore, Had passed through many a grade with eager haste, And still was hurrying on with fond impatience. Scarce could the Hierophant impose a rein Upon his headlong efforts. "What avails A part without the whole?" the youth exclaimed; "Can there be here a lesser or a greater? The truth thou speak'st of, like mere earthly dross, Is't but a sum that can be held by man In larger or in smaller quantity? Surely 'tis changeless, indivisible; Deprive a harmony of but one note, Deprive the rainbow of one single color, And all that will remain is naught, so long As that one color, that one note, is wanting."

While thus they converse held, they chanced to stand Within the precincts of a lonely temple, Where a veiled statue of gigantic size The youth's attention caught. In wonderment He turned him toward his guide, and asked him, saying, "What form is that concealed beneath yon veil?" "Truth!" was the answer. "What!" the young man cried, "When I am striving after truth alone, Seekest thou to hide that very truth from me?"

"The Godhead's self alone can answer thee," Replied the Hierophant. "'Let no rash mortal Disturb this veil,' said he, 'till raised by me; For he who dares with sacrilegious hand To move the sacred mystic covering, He'—said the Godhead—" "Well?"—"'will see the truth.'" "Strangely oracular, indeed! And thou Hast never ventured, then, to raise the veil?" "I? Truly not! I never even felt The least desire."—"Is't possible? If I Were severed from the truth by nothing else Than this thin gauze—" "And a divine decree," His guide broke in. "Far heavier than thou thinkest Is this thin gauze, my son. Light to thy hand It may be—but most weighty to thy conscience."

The youth now sought his home, absorbed in thought; His burning wish to solve the mystery Banished all sleep; upon his couch he lay, Tossing his feverish limbs. When midnight came, He rose, and toward the temple timidly, Led by a mighty impulse, bent his way. The walls he scaled, and soon one active spring Landed the daring boy beneath the dome.

Behold him now, in utter solitude, Welcomed by naught save fearful, deathlike silence,— A silence which the echo of his steps Alone disturbs, as through the vaults he paces. Piercing an opening in the cupola, The moon cast down her pale and silvery beams, And, awful as a present deity, Glittering amid the darkness of the pile, In its long veil concealed, the statue stands.

With hesitating step, he now draws near— His impious hand would fain remove the veil— Sudden a burning chill assails his bones And then an unseen arm repulses him. "Unhappy one, what wouldst thou do?" Thus cries A faithful voice within his trembling breast. "Wouldst thou profanely violate the All-Holy?" "'Tis true the oracle declared, 'Let none Venture to raise the veil till raised by me.' But did the oracle itself not add, That he who did so would behold the truth? Whate'er is hid behind, I'll raise the veil." And then he shouted: "Yes! I will behold it!" "Behold it!" Repeats in mocking tone the distant echo.

He speaks, and, with the word, lifts up the veil. Would you inquire what form there met his eye? I know not,—but, when day appeared, the priests Found him extended senseless, pale as death, Before the pedestal of Isis' statue. What had been seen and heard by him when there He never would disclose, but from that hour His happiness in life had fled forever, And his deep sorrow soon conducted him To an untimely grave. "Woe to that man," He warning said to every questioner, "Woe to that man who wins the truth by guilt, For truth so gained will ne'er reward its owner."



THE DIVISION OF THE EARTH.

"Take the world!" Zeus exclaimed from his throne in the skies To the children of man—"take the world I now give; It shall ever remain as your heirloom and prize, So divide it as brothers, and happily live."

Then all who had hands sought their share to obtain, The young and the aged made haste to appear; The husbandman seized on the fruits of the plain, The youth through the forest pursued the fleet deer.

The merchant took all that his warehouse could hold, The abbot selected the last year's best wine, The king barred the bridges,—the highways controlled, And said, "Now remember, the tithes shall be mine!"

But when the division long-settled had been, The poet drew nigh from a far distant land; But alas! not a remnant was now to be seen, Each thing on the earth owned a master's command.

"Alas! shall then I, of thy sons the most true,— Shall I, 'mongst them all, be forgotten alone?" Thus loudly he cried in his anguish, and threw Himself in despair before Jupiter's throne.

"If thou in the region of dreams didst delay, Complain not of me," the Immortal replied; "When the world was apportioned, where then wert thou, pray?" "I was," said the poet, "I was—by thy side!"

"Mine eye was then fixed on thy features so bright, Mine ear was entranced by thy harmony's power; Oh, pardon the spirit that, awed by thy light, All things of the earth could forget in that hour!"

"What to do?" Zeus exclaimed,—"for the world has been given; The harvest, the market, the chase, are not free; But if thou with me wilt abide in my heaven, Whenever thou comest, 'twill be open to thee!"



THE FAIREST APPARITION.

If thou never hast gazed upon beauty in moments of sorrow, Thou canst with truth never boast that thou true beauty hast seen. If thou never hast gazed upon gladness in beauteous features, Thou canst with truth never boast that thou true gladness hast seen.



THE IDEAL AND THE ACTUAL LIFE.

Forever fair, forever calm and bright, Life flies on plumage, zephyr-light, For those who on the Olympian hill rejoice— Moons wane, and races wither to the tomb, And 'mid the universal ruin, bloom The rosy days of Gods—With man, the choice, Timid and anxious, hesitates between The sense's pleasure and the soul's content; While on celestial brows, aloft and sheen, The beams of both are blent.

Seekest thou on earth the life of gods to share, Safe in the realm of death?—beware To pluck the fruits that glitter to thine eye; Content thyself with gazing on their glow— Short are the joys possession can bestow, And in possession sweet desire will die. 'Twas not the ninefold chain of waves that bound Thy daughter, Ceres, to the Stygian river— She plucked the fruit of the unholy ground, And so—was hell's forever! The weavers of the web—the fates—but sway The matter and the things of clay; Safe from change that time to matter gives, Nature's blest playmate, free at will to stray With gods a god, amidst the fields of day, The form, the archetype [39], serenely lives. Would'st thou soar heavenward on its joyous wing? Cast from thee, earth, the bitter and the real, High from this cramped and dungeon being, spring Into the realm of the ideal!

Here, bathed, perfection, in thy purest ray, Free from the clogs and taints of clay, Hovers divine the archetypal man! Dim as those phantom ghosts of life that gleam And wander voiceless by the Stygian stream,— Fair as it stands in fields Elysian, Ere down to flesh the immortal doth descend:— If doubtful ever in the actual life Each contest—here a victory crowns the end Of every nobler strife.

Not from the strife itself to set thee free, But more to nerve—doth victory Wave her rich garland from the ideal clime. Whate'er thy wish, the earth has no repose— Life still must drag thee onward as it flows, Whirling thee down the dancing surge of time. But when the courage sinks beneath the dull Sense of its narrow limits—on the soul, Bright from the hill-tops of the beautiful, Bursts the attained goal!

If worth thy while the glory and the strife Which fire the lists of actual life— The ardent rush to fortune or to fame, In the hot field where strength and valor are, And rolls the whirling thunder of the car, And the world, breathless, eyes the glorious game— Then dare and strive—the prize can but belong To him whose valor o'er his tribe prevails; In life the victory only crowns the strong— He who is feeble fails.

But life, whose source, by crags around it piled, Chafed while confined, foams fierce and wild, Glides soft and smooth when once its streams expand, When its waves, glassing in their silver play, Aurora blent with Hesper's milder ray, Gain the still beautiful—that shadow-land! Here, contest grows but interchange of love, All curb is but the bondage of the grace; Gone is each foe,—peace folds her wings above Her native dwelling-place.

When, through dead stone to breathe a soul of light, With the dull matter to unite The kindling genius, some great sculptor glows; Behold him straining, every nerve intent— Behold how, o'er the subject element, The stately thought its march laborious goes! For never, save to toil untiring, spoke The unwilling truth from her mysterious well— The statue only to the chisel's stroke Wakes from its marble cell.

But onward to the sphere of beauty—go Onward, O child of art! and, lo! Out of the matter which thy pains control The statue springs!—not as with labor wrung From the hard block, but as from nothing sprung— Airy and light—the offspring of the soul! The pangs, the cares, the weary toils it cost Leave not a trace when once the work is done— The Artist's human frailty merged and lost In art's great victory won! [40]

If human sin confronts the rigid law Of perfect truth and virtue [41], awe Seizes and saddens thee to see how far Beyond thy reach, perfection;—if we test By the ideal of the good, the best, How mean our efforts and our actions are! This space between the ideal of man's soul And man's achievement, who hath ever past? An ocean spreads between us and that goal, Where anchor ne'er was cast!

But fly the boundary of the senses—live The ideal life free thought can give; And, lo, the gulf shall vanish, and the chill Of the soul's impotent despair be gone! And with divinity thou sharest the throne, Let but divinity become thy will! Scorn not the law—permit its iron band The sense (it cannot chain the soul) to thrall. Let man no more the will of Jove withstand [42], And Jove the bolt lets fall!

If, in the woes of actual human life— If thou could'st see the serpent strife Which the Greek art has made divine in stone— Could'st see the writhing limbs, the livid cheek, Note every pang, and hearken every shriek, Of some despairing lost Laocoon, The human nature would thyself subdue To share the human woe before thine eye— Thy cheek would pale, and all thy soul be true To man's great sympathy.

But in the ideal realm, aloof and far, Where the calm art's pure dwellers are, Lo, the Laocoon writhes, but does not groan. Here, no sharp grief the high emotion knows— Here, suffering's self is made divine, and shows The brave resolve of the firm soul alone: Here, lovely as the rainbow on the dew Of the spent thunder-cloud, to art is given, Gleaming through grief's dark veil, the peaceful blue Of the sweet moral heaven.

So, in the glorious parable, behold How, bowed to mortal bonds, of old Life's dreary path divine Alcides trod: The hydra and the lion were his prey, And to restore the friend he loved to-day, He went undaunted to the black-browed god; And all the torments and the labors sore Wroth Juno sent—the meek majestic one, With patient spirit and unquailing, bore, Until the course was run—

Until the god cast down his garb of clay, And rent in hallowing flame away The mortal part from the divine—to soar To the empyreal air! Behold him spring Blithe in the pride of the unwonted wing, And the dull matter that confined before Sinks downward, downward, downward as a dream! Olympian hymns receive the escaping soul, And smiling Hebe, from the ambrosial stream, Fills for a god the bowl!



GERMANY AND HER PRINCES.

Thou hast produced mighty monarchs, of whom thou art not unworthy, For the obedient alone make him who governs them great. But, O Germany, try if thou for thy rulers canst make it Harder as kings to be great,—easier, though, to be men!



DANGEROUS CONSEQUENCES.

Deeper and bolder truths be careful, my friends, of avowing; For as soon as ye do all the world on ye will fall.



THE MAIDEN FROM AFAR.

(OR FROM ABROAD.)

Within a vale, each infant year, When earliest larks first carol free, To humble shepherds cloth appear A wondrous maiden, fair to see. Not born within that lowly place— From whence she wandered, none could tell; Her parting footsteps left no trace, When once the maiden sighed farewell.

And blessed was her presence there— Each heart, expanding, grew more gay; Yet something loftier still than fair Kept man's familiar looks away. From fairy gardens, known to none, She brought mysterious fruits and flowers— The things of some serener sun— Some Nature more benign than ours.

With each her gifts the maiden shared— To some the fruits, the flowers to some; Alike the young, the aged fared; Each bore a blessing back to home. Though every guest was welcome there, Yet some the maiden held more dear, And culled her rarest sweets whene'er She saw two hearts that loved draw near. [43]



THE HONORABLE.

Ever honor the whole; individuals only I honor; In individuals I always discover the whole.



PARABLES AND RIDDLES.

I.

A bridge of pearls its form uprears High o'er a gray and misty sea; E'en in a moment it appears, And rises upwards giddily.

Beneath its arch can find a road The loftiest vessel's mast most high, Itself hath never borne a load, And seems, when thou draw'st near, to fly.

It comes first with the stream, and goes Soon as the watery flood is dried. Where may be found this bridge, disclose, And who its beauteous form supplied!

II.

It bears thee many a mile away, And yet its place it changes ne'er; It has no pinions to display, And yet conducts thee through the air.

It is the bark of swiftest motion That every weary wanderer bore; With speed of thought the greatest ocean It carries thee in safety o'er; One moment wafts thee to the shore.

III.

Upon a spacious meadow play Thousands of sheep, of silvery hue; And as we see them move to-day, The man most aged saw them too.

They ne'er grow old, and, from a rill That never dries, their life is drawn; A shepherd watches o'er them still, With curved and beauteous silver horn.

He drives them out through gates of gold, And every night their number counts; Yet ne'er has lost, of all his fold, One lamb, though oft that path he mounts.

A hound attends him faithfully, A nimble ram precedes the way; Canst thou point out that flock to me, And who the shepherd, canst thou say?

IV.

There stands a dwelling, vast and tall, On unseen columns fair; No wanderer treads or leaves its hall, And none can linger there.

Its wondrous structure first was planned With art no mortal knows; It lights the lamps with its own hand 'Mongst which it brightly glows.

It has a roof, as crystal bright, Formed of one gem of dazzling light; Yet mortal eye has ne'er Seen Him who placed it there.

V.

Within a well two buckets lie, One mounts, and one descends; When one is full, and rises high, The other downward wends.

They wander ever to and fro— Now empty are, now overflow. If to the mouth thou liftest this, That hangs within the dark abyss. In the same moment they can ne'er Refresh thee with their treasures fair.

VI.

Know'st thou the form on tender ground? It gives itself its glow, its light; And though each moment changing found. Is ever whole and ever bright. In narrow compass 'tis confined, Within the smallest frame it lies; Yet all things great that move thy mind, That form alone to thee supplies.

And canst thou, too, the crystal name? No gem can equal it in worth; It gleams, yet kindles near to flame, It sucks in even all the earth. Within its bright and wondrous ring Is pictured forth the glow of heaven, And yet it mirrors back each thing Far fairer than to it 'twas given.

VII.

For ages an edifice here has been found, It is not a dwelling, it is not a Pane; A horseman for hundreds of days may ride round, Yet the end of his journey he ne'er can attain.

Full many a century o'er it has passed, The might of the storm and of time it defies! Neath the rainbow of Heaven stands free to the last,— In the ocean it dips, and soars up to the skies.

It was not vain glory that bade its erection, It serves as a refuge, a shield, a protection; Its like on the earth never yet has been known And yet by man's hand it is fashioned alone.

VIII.

Among all serpents there is one, Born of no earthly breed; In fury wild it stands alone, And in its matchless speed.

With fearful voice and headlong force It rushes on its prey, And sweeps the rider and his horse In one fell swoop away.

The highest point it loves to gain; And neither bar nor lock Its fiery onslaught can restrain; And arms—invite its shock.

It tears in twain like tender grass, The strongest forest-trees; It grinds to dust the hardened brass, Though stout and firm it be.

And yet this beast, that none can tame, Its threat ne'er twice fulfils; It dies in its self-kindled flame. And dies e'en when it kills.

IX.

We children six our being had From a most strange and wondrous pair,— Our mother ever grave and sad, Our father ever free from care.

Our virtues we from both receive,— Meekness from her, from him our light; And so in endless youth we weave Round thee a circling figure bright.

We ever shun the caverns black, And revel in the glowing day; 'Tis we who light the world's dark track, With our life's clear and magic ray.

Spring's joyful harbingers are we, And her inspiring streams we swell; And so the house of death we flee, For life alone must round us dwell.

Without us is no perfect bliss, When man is glad, we, too, attend, And when a monarch worshipped is, To him our majesty attend.

X.

What is the thing esteemed by few? The monarch's hand it decks with pride, Yet it is made to injure too, And to the sword is most allied.

No blood it sheds, yet many a wound Inflicts,—gives wealth, yet takes from none; Has vanquished e'en the earth's wide round, And makes life's current smoothly run.

The greatest kingdoms it has framed, The oldest cities reared from dust, Yet war's fierce torch has ne'er inflamed; Happy are they who in it trust!

XI.

I live within a dwelling of stone, There buried in slumber I dally; Yet, armed with a weapon of iron alone, The foe to encounter I sally. At first I'm invisible, feeble, and mean, And o'er me thy breath has dominion; I'm easily drowned in a raindrop e'en, Yet in victory waxes my pinion. When my sister, all-powerful, gives me her hand, To the terrible lord of the world I expand.

XII.

Upon a disk my course I trace, There restlessly forever flit; Small is the circuit I embrace, Two hands suffice to cover it. Yet ere that field I traverse, I Full many a thousand mile must go, E'en though with tempest-speed I fly, Swifter than arrow from a bow.

XIII.

A bird it is, whose rapid motion With eagle's flight divides the air; A fish it is, and parts the ocean, That bore a greater monster ne'er; An elephant it is, whose rider On his broad back a tower has put: 'Tis like the reptile base, the spider, Whenever it extends its foot; And when, with iron tooth projecting, It seeks its own life-blood to drain, On footing firm, itself erecting, It braves the raging hurricane.



THE VIRTUE OF WOMAN.

Man of virtue has need;-into life with boldness he plunges, Entering with fortune more sure into the hazardous strife; But to woman one virtue suffices; it is ever shining Lovingly forth to the heart; so let it shine to the eye!



THE WALK.

Hail to thee, mountain beloved, with thy glittering purple-dyed summit! Hail to thee also, fair sun, looking so lovingly on! Thee, too, I hail, thou smiling plain, and ye murmuring lindens, Ay, and the chorus so glad, cradled on yonder high boughs; Thee, too, peaceably azure, in infinite measure extending Round the dusky-hued mount, over the forest so green,— Round about me, who now from my chamber's confinement escaping, And from vain frivolous talk, gladly seek refuge with thee. Through me to quicken me runs the balsamic stream of thy breezes, While the energetical light freshens the gaze as it thirsts. Bright o'er the blooming meadow the changeable colors are gleaming, But the strife, full of charms, in its own grace melts away Freely the plain receives me,—with carpet far away reaching, Over its friendly green wanders the pathway along. Round me is humming the busy bee, and with pinion uncertain Hovers the butterfly gay over the trefoil's red flower. Fiercely the darts of the sun fall on me,—the zephyr is silent, Only the song of the lark echoes athwart the clear air. Now from the neighboring copse comes a roar, and the tops of the alders Bend low down,—in the wind dances the silvery grass; Night ambrosial circles me round; in the coolness so fragrant Greets me a beauteous roof, formed by the beeches' sweet shade. In the depths of the wood the landscape suddenly leaves me And a serpentine path guides up my footsteps on high. Only by stealth can the light through the leafy trellis of branches Sparingly pierce, and the blue smilingly peeps through the boughs, But in a moment the veil is rent, and the opening forest Suddenly gives back the day's glittering brightness to me! Boundlessly seems the distance before my gaze to be stretching, And in a purple-tinged hill terminates sweetly the world.

Deep at the foot of the mountain, that under me falls away steeply, Wanders the greenish-hued stream, looking like glass as it flows. Endlessly under me see I the ether, and endlessly o'er Giddily look I above, shudderingly look I below, But between the infinite height and the infinite hollow Safely the wanderer moves over a well-guarded path. Smilingly past me are flying the banks all teeming with riches, And the valley so bright boasts of its industry glad. See how yonder hedgerows that sever the farmer's possessions Have by Demeter been worked into the tapestried plain! Kindly decree of the law, of the Deity mortal-sustaining, Since from the brazen world love vanished forever away. But in freer windings the measured pastures are traversed (Now swallowed up in the wood, now climbing up to the hills) By a glimmering streak, the highway that knits lands together; Over the smooth-flowing stream, quietly glide on the rafts.

Ofttimes resound the bells of the flocks in the fields that seem living, And the shepherd's lone song wakens the echo again. Joyous villages crown the stream, in the copse others vanish, While from the back of the mount, others plunge wildly below. Man still lives with the land in neighborly friendship united, And round his sheltering roof calmly repose still his fields; Trustingly climbs the vine high over the low-reaching window, While round the cottage the tree circles its far-stretching boughs. Happy race of the plain! Not yet awakened to freedom, Thou and thy pastures with joy share in the limited law; Bounded thy wishes all are by the harvest's peaceable circuit, And thy lifetime is spent e'en as the task of the day!

But what suddenly hides the beauteous view? A strange spirit Over the still-stranger plain spreads itself quickly afar— Coyly separates now, what scarce had lovingly mingled, And 'tis the like that alone joins itself on to the like. Orders I see depicted; the haughty tribes of the poplars Marshalled in regular pomp, stately and beauteous appear. All gives token of rule and choice, and all has its meaning,— 'Tis this uniform plan points out the Ruler to me. Brightly the glittering domes in far-away distance proclaim him. Out of the kernel of rocks rises the city's high wall. Into the desert without, the fauns of the forest are driven, But by devotion is lent life more sublime to the stone. Man is brought into nearer union with man, and around him Closer, more actively wakes, swifter moves in him the world. See! the emulous forces in fiery conflict are kindled, Much, they effect when they strive, more they effect when they join. Thousands of hands by one spirit are moved, yet in thousands of bosoms Beats one heart all alone, by but one feeling inspired— Beats for their native land, and glows for their ancestors' precepts; Here on the well-beloved spot, rest now time-honored bones.

Down from the heavens descends the blessed troop of immortals, In the bright circle divine making their festal abode; Granting glorious gifts, they appear: and first of all, Ceres Offers the gift of the plough, Hermes the anchor brings next, Bacchus the grape, and Minerva the verdant olive-tree's branches, Even his charger of war brings there Poseidon as well. Mother Cybele yokes to the pole of her chariot the lions, And through the wide-open door comes as a citizen in. Sacred stones! 'Tis from ye that proceed humanity's founders, Morals and arts ye sent forth, e'en to the ocean's far isles. 'Twas at these friendly gates that the law was spoken by sages; In their Penates' defence, heroes rushed out to the fray. On the high walls appeared the mothers, embracing their infants, Looking after the march, till the distance 'twas lost. Then in prayer they threw themselves down at the deities' altars, Praying for triumph and fame, praying for your safe return. Honor and triumph were yours, but naught returned save your glory, And by a heart-touching stone, told are your valorous deeds. "Traveller! when thou com'st to Sparta, proclaim to the people That thou hast seen us lie here, as by the law we were bid." Slumber calmly, ye loved ones! for sprinkled o'er by your life-blood, Flourish the olive-trees there, joyously sprouts the good seed. In its possessions exulting, industry gladly is kindled. And from the sedge of the stream smilingly signs the blue god. Crushingly falls the axe on the tree, the Dryad sighs sadly; Down from the crest of the mount plunges the thundering load. Winged by the lever, the stone from the rocky crevice is loosened; Into the mountain's abyss boldly the miner descends. Mulciber's anvil resounds with the measured stroke of the hammer; Under the fist's nervous blow, spurt out the sparks of the steel. Brilliantly twines the golden flax round the swift-whirling spindles, Through the strings of the yarn whizzes the shuttle away.

Far in the roads the pilot calls, and the vessels are waiting, That to the foreigner's land carry the produce of home; Others gladly approach with the treasures of far-distant regions, High on the mast's lofty head flutters the garland of mirth. See how yon markets, those centres of life and of gladness, are swarming! Strange confusion of tongues sounds in the wondering ear. On to the pile the wealth of the earth is heaped by the merchant, All that the sun's scorching rays bring forth on Africa's soil, All that Arabia prepares, that the uttermost Thule produces, High with heart-gladdening stores fills Amalthea her horn. Fortune wedded to talent gives birth there to children immortal, Suckled in liberty's arms, flourish the arts there of joy. With the image of life the eyes by the sculptor are ravished, And by the chisel inspired, speaks e'en the sensitive stone. Skies artificial repose on slender Ionian columns, And a Pantheon includes all that Olympus contains. Light as the rainbow's spring through the air, as the dart from the bowstring, Leaps the yoke of the bridge over the boisterous stream.

But in his silent chamber the thoughtful sage is projecting Magical circles, and steals e'en on the spirit that forms, Proves the force of matter, the hatreds and loves of the magnet, Follows the tune through the air, follows through ether the ray, Seeks the familiar law in chance's miracles dreaded, Looks for the ne'er-changing pole in the phenomena's flight. Bodies and voices are lent by writing to thought ever silent, Over the centuries' stream bears it the eloquent page. Then to the wondering gaze dissolves the cloud of the fancy, And the vain phantoms of night yield to the dawning of day. Man now breaks through his fetters, the happy one! Oh, let him never Break from the bridle of shame, when from fear's fetters he breaks Freedom! is reason's cry,—ay, freedom! The wild raging passions Eagerly cast off the bonds Nature divine had imposed.

Ah! in the tempest the anchors break loose, that warningly held him On to the shore, and the stream tears him along in its flood,— Into infinity whirls him,—the coasts soon vanish before him, High on the mountainous waves rocks all-dismasted the bark; Under the clouds are hid the steadfast stars of the chariot, Naught now remains,—in the breast even the god goes astray. Truth disappears from language, from life all faith and all honor Vanish, and even the oath is but a lie on the lips. Into the heart's most trusty bond, and into love's secrets, Presses the sycophant base, tearing the friend from the friend. Treason on innocence leers, with looks that seek to devour, And the fell slanderer's tooth kills with its poisonous bite. In the dishonored bosom, thought is now venal, and love, too, Scatters abroad to the winds, feelings once god-like and free. All thy holy symbols, O truth, deceit has adopted, And has e'en dared to pollute Nature's own voices so fair, That the craving heart in the tumult of gladness discovers; True sensations are now mute and can scarcely be heard. Justice boasts at the tribune, and harmony vaunts in the cottage, While the ghost of the law stands at the throne of the king. Years together, ay, centuries long, may the mummy continue, And the deception endure, apeing the fulness of life. Until Nature awakes, and with hands all-brazen and heavy 'Gainst the hollow-formed pile time and necessity strikes. Like a tigress, who, bursting the massive grating iron, Of her Numidian wood suddenly, fearfully thinks,— So with the fury of crime and anguish, humanity rises Hoping nature, long-lost in the town's ashes, to find. Oh then open, ye walls, and set the captive at freedom To the long desolate plains let him in safety return!

But where am I? The path is now hid, declivities rugged Bar, with their wide-yawning gulfs, progress before and behind. Now far behind me is left the gardens' and hedges' sure escort, Every trace of man's hand also remains far behind. Only the matter I see piled up, whence life has its issue, And the raw mass of basalt waits for a fashioning hand. Down through its channel of rock the torrent roaringly rushes, Angrily forcing a path under the roots of the trees. All is here wild and fearfully desolate. Naught but the eagle Hangs in the lone realms of air, knitting the world to the clouds. Not one zephyr on soaring pinion conveys to my hearing Echoes, however remote, marking man's pleasures and pains. Am I in truth, then, alone? Within thine arms, on thy bosom, Nature, I lie once again!—Ah, and 'twas only a dream That assailed me with horrors so fearful; with life's dreaded phantom, And with the down-rushing vale, vanished the gloomy one too. Purer my life I receive again from thine altar unsullied,— Purer receive the bright glow felt by my youth's hopeful days. Ever the will is changing its aim and its rule, while forever, In a still varying form, actions revolve round themselves. But in enduring youth, in beauty ever renewing. Kindly Nature, with grace thou dost revere the old law! Ever the same, for the man in thy faithful hands thou preservest That which the child in its sport, that which the youth lent to thee; At the same breast thou dost suckle the ceaselessly-varying ages; Under the same azure vault, over the same verdant earth, Races, near and remote, in harmony wander together, See, even Homer's own sun looks on us, too, with a smile!



THE LAY OF THE BELL.

"Vivos voco—Mortuos plango—Fulgura frango." [44]

Fast, in its prison-walls of earth, Awaits the mould of baked clay. Up, comrades, up, and aid the birth The bell that shall be born to-day! Who would honor obtain, With the sweat and the pain, The praise that man gives to the master must buy.— But the blessing withal must descend from on high!

And well an earnest word beseems The work the earnest hand prepares; Its load more light the labor deems, When sweet discourse the labor shares. So let us ponder—nor in vain— What strength can work when labor wills; For who would not the fool disdain Who ne'er designs what he fulfils? And well it stamps our human race, And hence the gift to understand, That man within the heart should trace Whate'er he fashions with the hand.

From the fir the fagot take, Keep it, heap it hard and dry, That the gathered flame may break Through the furnace, wroth and high. When the copper within Seeths and simmers—the tin, Pour quick, that the fluid that feeds the bell May flow in the right course glib and well.

Deep hid within this nether cell, What force with fire is moulding thus, In yonder airy tower shall dwell, And witness wide and far of us! It shall, in later days, unfailing, Rouse many an ear to rapt emotion; Its solemn voice with sorrow wailing, Or choral chiming to devotion. Whatever fate to man may bring, Whatever weal or woe befall, That metal tongue shall backward ring, The warning moral drawn from all.

See the silvery bubbles spring! Good! the mass is melting now! Let the salts we duly bring Purge the flood, and speed the flow. From the dross and the scum, Pure, the fusion must come; For perfect and pure we the metal must keep, That its voice may be perfect, and pure, and deep.

That voice, with merry music rife, The cherished child shall welcome in; What time the rosy dreams of life, In the first slumber's arms begin. As yet, in Time's dark womb unwarning, Repose the days, or foul or fair; And watchful o'er that golden morning, The mother-love's untiring care! And swift the years like arrows fly No more with girls content to play, Bounds the proud boy upon his way, Storms through loud life's tumultuous pleasures, With pilgrim staff the wide world measures; And, wearied with the wish to roam, Again seeks, stranger-like, the father-home. And, lo, as some sweet vision breaks Out from its native morning skies With rosy shame on downcast cheeks, The virgin stands before his eyes.

A nameless longing seizes him! From all his wild compassions flown; Tears, strange till then, his eyes bedim; He wanders all alone. Blushing, he glides where'er she move; Her greeting can transport him; To every mead to deck his love, The happy wild flowers court him! Sweet hope—and tender longing—ye The growth of life's first age of gold; When the heart, swelling, seems to see The gates of heaven unfold! O love, the beautiful and brief! O prime, Glory, and verdure, of life's summer time!

Browning o'er, the pipes are simmering, Dip this wand of clay [45] within; If like glass the wand be glimmering, Then the casting may begin. Brisk, brisk now, and see If the fusion flow free; If—(happy and welcome indeed were the sign!) If the hard and the ductile united combine. For still where the strong is betrothed to the weak, And the stern in sweet marriage is blent with the meek, Rings the concord harmonious, both tender and strong So be it with thee, if forever united, The heart to the heart flows in one, love-delighted; Illusion is brief, but repentance is long.

Lovely, thither are they bringing. With the virgin wreath, the bride! To the love-feast clearly ringing, Tolls the church-bell far and wide! With that sweetest holiday, Must the May of life depart; With the cestus loosed—away Flies illusion from the heart! Yet love lingers lonely, When passion is mute, And the blossoms may only Give way to the fruit. The husband must enter The hostile life, With struggle and strife To plant or to watch. To snare or to snatch, To pray and importune, Must wager and venture And hunt down his fortune! Then flows in a current the gear and the gain, And the garners are filled with the gold of the grain, Now a yard to the court, now a wing to the centre! Within sits another, The thrifty housewife; The mild one, the mother— Her home is her life. In its circle she rules, And the daughters she schools And she cautions the boys, With a bustling command, And a diligent hand Employed she employs; Gives order to store, And the much makes the more; Locks the chest and the wardrobe, with lavender smelling, And the hum of the spindle goes quick through the dwelling; And she hoards in the presses, well polished and full, The snow of the linen, the shine of the wool; Blends the sweet with the good, and from care and endeavor Rests never! Blithe the master (where the while From his roof he sees them smile) Eyes the lands, and counts the gain; There, the beams projecting far, And the laden storehouse are, And the granaries bowed beneath The blessed golden grain; There, in undulating motion, Wave the cornfields like an ocean. Proud the boast the proud lips breathe:— "My house is built upon a rock, And sees unmoved the stormy shock Of waves that fret below!" What chain so strong, what girth so great, To bind the giant form of fate?— Swift are the steps of woe.