Some plucked the palm-boughs within reach,

And others leapt up high to catch
The upper boughs, and shake from each

A rain of dew, till, wetted so,
The child who held the branch let go,
And it swang backward with a flow

Of faster drippings. Then I knew
The children laughed-but the laugh
flew

From its own chirrup, as might do

A frightened song-bird; and a child Who seemed the chief, said very mild, 'Hush! keep this morning undefiled.'

His eyes rebuked them from calm spheres ;

His soul upon his brow appears
In waiting for more holy years.

I called the child to me, and said,
'What are your palms for?'- 'To be
spread,'

He answered, on a poet dead.

"The poet died last month; and now The world, which had been somewhat slow

In honoring his living brow,

'Commands the palms-They must be

strown

On his new marble very soon,
In a procession of the town.'

I sighed and said, 'Did he foresee
Any such honor?' 'Verily

I cannot tell you,' answered he,

'But this I know,-I fain would lay Mine own head down, another day, As he did,-with the fame away.

'A lily, a friend's hand had plucked, Lay by his death-bed, which he looked As deep down as a bee had sucked;

Then, turning to the lattice, gazed O'er hill and river, and upraised His eyes illumined and amazed

232

And, in that kiss of Love, was won Life's manumission: All was doneThe mouth that kissed last, kissed alone.

But in the former, confluent kiss, The same was sealed, I think, by His, To words of truth and uprightness.'

The child's voice trembled - his lips shook

Like a rose leaning over a brook, Which vibrates though it is not struck.

'And who,' I asked, a little moved Yet curious-eyed, was this that loved And kissed him last, as it behooved?'

'I' softly said the child; and then, 'I,' said he louder, once again. 'His son,-my rank is among men.

And now that men exalt his name I come to gather palms with them, That holy Love may hallow Fame.

'He did not die alone; nor should His memory live so, mid these rude World praisers a worse solitude.

'Me, a voice calleth to that tomb Where these are strewing branch and bloom,

Saying, come nearer !-and I come.

'Glory to God!' resumed he, And his eyes smiled for victory

O'er their own tears which I could see

Fallen on the palm, down cheek and chin

'That poet now hath entered in The place of rest which is not sin.

'And while he rests, his songs in troops Walk up and down our earthly slopes, Companioned by diviner Hopes.'

'But thou,' I murmured,-to engage The child's speech farther-' hast an age Too tender for this orphanage.'

'Glory to God-to God!' he saithKNOWLEDGE BY SUFFERING ENDURETH; AND LIFE IS PERFECTED BY DEATH!'

CROWNED AND WEDDED.

WHEN last before her people's face her own fair face she bent,

Within the meek projection of that shade she was content

To erase the child-smile from her lips, which seemed as if it might Be still kept holy from the world to childhood still in sight

To erase it with a solemn vow-a princely vow-to rule

A priestly vow-to rule by grace of God the pitiful,

A very god-like vow-to rule in right and righteousness,

And with the law and for the land!-so God the vower bless!

The minster was alight that day, but not with fire, I ween,

And long-drawn glitterings swept adown that mighty aisled scene: The priests stood stoled in their pomp, the sworded chiefs in theirs, And so, the collared knights,-and so, the civil ministers,

And so, the waiting lords and damesand little pages best

and high

At holding trains-and legates so, from countries east and westSo, alien princes, native peers, born ladies bright, Along whose brows the queen's new crowned, flashed coronets to light! And so, the people at the gates, with priestly hands on high,

Which bring the first anointing to all legal majesty.

And so the DEAD-who lie in rows beneath the minster floor,

There, verily an awful state maintaining evermore

The statesman whose clean palm will kiss no bribe whate'er it beThe courtier, who, for no fair queen will rise up to his knee

The court-dame who, for no court-tire, will leave her shroud behindThe laureate who no courtlier rhyme than dust to dust' can findThe kings and queens who having made that vow and worn that crown, Descended unto lower thrones and darker, deep adown!

as some at Augsburg were,We charge thee, by thy lofty thoughts, and by thy poet-mind,

And as the loyal shouts went up, true

spirits prayed between, 'The blessings happy monarchs have be thine, O crowned queen!' But now before her people's face she bendeth hers anew,

And calls them, while she vows, to be her witness thereunto.

She vowed to rule, and in that oath, her

childhood put away

She doth maintain her womanhood, in vowing love to-day.

O, lovely lady !-let her vow!-such lips become such vows,

And fairer goeth bridal wreath than crown with vernal brows!

O, lovely lady !-let her vow!—yea, let her vow to love !

And though she be no less a queenwith purples hung above,

The pageant of a court behind, the royal kin around,

And woven gold to catch her looks turned maidenly to ground, Yet may the bride-veil hide from her a little of that state,

While loving hopes, for retinues, about her sweetness wait:

SHE VOWS to love who vowed to rule

the chosen at her side

Let none say, God preserve the queen! -but rather, Bless the bride! None blow the trump, none bend the knee, none violate the dream Wherein no monarch but a wife, she to herself may seem:

Or, if ye say, Preserve the queen !—oh, breathe it inward low

She is a woman and beloved !-and 'tis enough but so!

Count it enough, thou noble prince, who tak'st her by the hand,

And claimest for thy lady-love, our lady of the land!

And since, Prince Albert, men have called thy spirit high and rare,

Which not by glory and degree takes measure of mankind,

Esteem that wedded hand less dear for sceptre than for ring,

And hold her uncrowned womanhood to be the royal thing:

And now, upon our queen's last vow, what blessings shall we pray? None straitened to a shallow crown, will suit our lips to-day.

Behold, they must be free as love-they must be broad as free,

Even to the borders of heaven's light and earth's humanity.

Long live she!-send up loyal shoutsand true hearts pray between,'The blessings happy PEASANTS have, be thine, O crowned queen!'

CROWNED AND BURIED. NAPOLEON!-years ago, and that great word

Compact of human breath in hate and dread

And exaltation, skied us overheadAn atmosphere whose lightning was the sword

Scathing the cedars of the world,drawn down

In burnings, by the metal of a crown.

Napoleon! Nations, while they cursed that name,

Shook at their own curse; and while others bore

Its sound, as of a trumpet, on before, Brass-fronted legions justified its fameAnd dying men, on trampled battlesods,

Near their last silence, uttered it for God's.

Napoleon! Sages, with high foreheads drooped,

Did use it for a problem; children small Leapt up to greet it, as at manhood's call: