How depths of blue sublimed some pall
-To get which, pricked a king's am-
bition;
Worth sceptre, crown and ball.

Yet there's the dye, in that rough mesh,
The sea has only just o'er-whispered!
Live whelks, each lip's beard dripping
fresh,

As if they still the water's lisp heard Through foam the rock-weeds thresh. Enough to furnish Solomon

Such hangings for his cedar-house, That, when gold-robed he took the throne

In that abyss of blue, the Spouse Might swear his presence shone

The house-roofs seemed to heave and sway,

The church-spires flamed, such flags they had,

A year ago on this very day.

The air broke into a mist with bells,
The old walls rocked with the crowd

and cries.

Had I said, "Good folk, mere noise repels

But give me your sun from yonder skies!"

They had answered, "And afterward, what else?"

Alack, it was I who leaped at the sun

To give it my loving friends to keep! Naught man could do, have I left undone :

And you see my harvest, what I reap This very day, now a year is run.

There's nobody on the house-tops nowJust a palsied few at the windows set; For the best of the sight is, all allow,

At the Shambles' Gate-or, better yet, By the very scaffold's foot, I trow.

I go in the rain, and, more than needs, A rope cuts both my wrists behind; And I think, by the feel, my forehead bleeds,

For they fling, whoever has a mind, Stones at me for my year's misdeeds.

Till flesh must fade for heaven was here !

Thus leant she and lingered-joy and fear!

Thus lay she a moment on my breast.

Then we began to ride. My soul Smoothed itself out, a long-cramped scroll

Freshening and fluttering in the wind. Past hopes already lay behind.

What need to strive with a life awry? Had I said that, had I done this? So might I gain, so might I miss. Might she have loved me? just as well She might have hated, who can tell! Where had I been now if the worst befell?

And here we are riding, she and I.

Fail I alone, in words and deeds?
Why, all men strive, and who succeeds?
We rode; it seemed, my spirit flew,
Saw other regions, cities new,

As the world rushed by on either side.
I thought,-All labor, yet no less
Bear up beneath their unsuccess,
Look at the end of work, contrast
The petty done, the undone vast,
This present of theirs with the hopeful
past!

I hoped she would love me; here we ride.

What hand and brain went ever paired? What heart alike conceived and dared? What act proved all its thought had been?

What will but felt the fleshly screen?

We ride and I see her bosom heave. There's many a crown for us who can reach.

Ten lines, a statesman's life in each!
The flag stuck on a heap of bones,
A soldier's doing! what atones?
They scratch his name on the Abbey-

stones.

My riding is better, by their leave.

What does it all mean, poet? Well,
Your brains beat into rhythm, you tell
What we felt only; you expressed
You hold things beautiful the best,

And place them in rhyme so, side by side.

'Tis something, nay 't is much: but then, Have you yourself what's best for men? Are you-poor, sick, old ere your timeNearer one whit your own sublime

Than we who never have turned a rhyme?

Sing, riding's a joy. For me, I ride. And you, great sculptor-so, you gave A score of years to Art, her slave, And that's your Venus, whence we turn To yonder girl that fords the burn!

You acquiesce, and shall I repine? What, man of music, you grown gray With notes and nothing else to say, Is this your sole praise from a friend, Greatly his opera's strains intend, But in music we know how fashions end!"

66

I gave my youth; but we ride, in fine. Who knows what's fit for us? Had fate Proposed bliss here should sublimate My being-had I signed the bondStill one must lead some life beyond,

Have a bliss to die with, dim-descried. This foot once planted on the goal, This glory-garland round my soul, Could I descry such? Try and test! I sink back shuddering from the quest. Earth being so good, would heaven seem best?

Now, heaven and she are beyond this ride.

And yet she has not spoke so long!
What if heaven be that, fair and strong
At life's best, with our eyes upturned
Whither life's flower is first discerned,

We, fixed so, ever should so abide?
What if we still ride on, we two,
With life forever old yet new,
Changed not in kind but in degree,
The instant made eternity,-
And heaven just prove that I and she
Ride, ride together, forever ride?
1855.

Step two abreast, the way winds nar rowly!)

Not a whit troubled,

Back to his studies, fresher than at first, Fierce as a dragon

He (soul-hydroptic with a sacred thirst) Sucked at the flagon.

Oh, if we draw a circle premature,

Heedless of far gain,

Greedy for quick returns of profit, sure Bad is our bargain!

Was it not great? did not he throw on God,

(He loves the burthen)

God's task to make the heavenly period Perfect the earthen?

Did not he magnify the mind, show clear Just what it all meant?

He would not discount life, as fools do here,

Paid by instalment.

He ventured neck or nothing-heaven's

success

Found, or earth's failure: "Wilt thou trust death or not?" He answered Yes!

Hence with life's pale lure!" That low man seeks a little thing to do, Sees it and does it:

This high man, with a great thing to pursue,

Dies ere he knows it.

That low man goes on adding one to one,
His hundred's soon hit:

This high man, aiming at a million,
Misses an unit.

That, has the world here-should he need the next,

Let the world mind him!

This, throws himself on God, and unperplexed

Seeking shall find him.

So, with the throttling hands of death at strife.

Ground he at grammar;

Still, through the rattle, parts of speech were rife:

While he could stammer

He settled Hoti's business-let it be !—
Properly based Oun-

Gave us the doctrine of the enclitic De,
Dead from the waist down.
Well, here's the platform, here's the
proper place:

Hail to your purlieus,

All ye highfliers of the feathered race,
Swallows and curlews!
[low
Here's the top-peak; the multitude be-
Live, for they can, there :

That selfsame instant, underneath,
The Duke rode past in his idle way,
Empty and fine like a swordless sheath.

Gay he rode, with a friend as gay,

Till he threw his head back-- Who is she?"

-"A bride the Riccardi brings home to-day."

Hair in heaps lay heavily

Over a pale brow spirit-pure

Carved like the heart of the coal-black tree,

Crisped like a war steed's encolureAnd vainly sought to dissemble her eyes Of the blackest black our eyes endure, And lo, a blade for a knight's emprise Filled the fine empty sheath of a man,The Duke grew straightway brave and wise.