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Yet shine for ever virgin minds,
Loved by stars and purest winds,
Which, o'er passion throned sedate,
Have not hazarded their state ;
Disconcert the searching spy,
Rendering to a curious eye
The durance of a granite ledge.
To those who gaze from the sea's edge
It is there for benefit;
It is there for purging light ;
There for purifying storms ;
And its depths reflect all forms;
It cannot parley with the mean,-
Pure by impure is not seen.
For there's no sequestered grot,
Lone mountain tarn, or isle forgot,
But Justice, journeying in the sphere,
Daily stoops to harbour there.

ETIENNE DE LA BOECE.

I ;

SERVE you not, if you I follow,

Shadowlike, o'er hill and hollow; And bend my fancy to your leading, All too nimble for my treading. When the pilgrimage is done, And we've the landscape overrun, I am bitter, vacant, thwarted, And your heart is unsupported. Vainly valiant, you have missed The manhood that should yours resist,Its complement; but if I could, In severe or cordial mood, Lead you rightly to my altar, Where the wisest Muses falter, And worship that world-warming spark Which dazzles me in midnight dark, Equalizing small and large, While the soul it doth surcharge,

Till the poor is wealthy grown,
And the hermit never alone,-
The traveller and the road seem one
With the errand to be done,
That were a man's and lover's part,
That were Freedom's whitest chart.

SUUM CUIQUE.

T

HE rain has spoiled the farmer's day ;
Shall sorrow put my.

books away?
Thereby are two days lost:
Nature shall mind her own affairs ;
I will attend my proper cares,

In rain, or sun, or frost.

COMPENSATION.

HY should I keep holiday

When other men have none ? Why but because, when these are gay,

I sit and mourn alone.

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And why, when mirth unseals all tongues,

Should mine alone be dumb ?
Ah ! late I spoke to silent throngs,

And now their hour is come.

FORBEARANCE.

AST thou named all the birds without a

HA

gun ?

on

its

Loved the wood - rose,

and

left it
stalk ?
At rich men's tables eaten bread and pulse ?
Unarmed, faced danger with a heart of trust ?
And loved so well a high behaviour,
In man or maid, that thou from speech refrained,
Nobility more nobly to repay ?
O, be my friend, and teach me to be thine !

THE PARK.

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HE prosperous and beautiful

To me seem not to wear
The yoke of conscience masterful,

Which galls me everywhere.
I cannot shake off the god;

On my neck he makes his seat ;
I look at my face in the glass,-

My eyes his eyeballs meet.

Enchanters ! enchantresses !

Your gold makes you seem wise ;
The morning mist within your grounds

More proudly rolls, more softly lies.

Yet spake yon purple mountain,

Yet said yon ancient wood,
That Night or Day, that Love or Crime,

Leads all souls to the Good.

L

FORERUNNERS.
ONG I followed happy guides,

I could never reach their sides;
Their step is forth, and, ere the day,
Breaks up their leaguer, and away.
Keen my sense, my heart was young,
Right good-will my sinews strung,
But no speed of mine avails
To hunt upon their shining trails.
On and away, their hasting feet
Make the morning proud and sweet ;
Flowers they strew,-I catch the scent;
Or tone of silver instrument
Leaves on the wind melodious trace;
Yet I could never see their face.
On eastern hills I see their smokes,
Mixed with mists by distant lochs.
I met many travellers
Who the road had surely kept;
They saw not my fine revellers,
These had crossed them while they slept.
Some had heard their fair report,
In the country or the court.
Fleetest couriers alive
Never yet could once arrive,
As they went or they returned,
At the house where these sojourned.
Sometimes their strong speed they slacken,
Though they are not overtaken;
In sleep their jubilant troop is near,-
I tuneful voices overhear ;
It may be in wood or waste,-
At unawares 'tis come and past.
Their near camp my spirit knows
By signs gracious as rainbows.
I thenceforward, and long after,
Listen for their harp-like laughter,
And carry in my heart, for days,
Peace that hallows rudest ways.

SURSUM CORDA.

EEK not the spirit, if it hide

Trembler, do not whine and chide:
Art thou not also real ?
Stoop not then to poor excuse:
Turn on the accuser roundly; say,

Here am I, here will I abide
For ever to myself soothfast;
Go thou, sweet Heaven, or at thy pleasure stay!"
Already Heaven with thee its lot has cast,
For only it can absolutely deal.

ODE TO BEAUTY.

WH

HO gave thee, O Beauty,

The keys of this breast,-
Too credulous lover
Of blest and unblest ?
Say, when in lapsed ages
Thee knew I of old ?
Or what was the service
For which I was sold ?
When first my eyes saw thee,
I found me thy thrall,
By magical drawings,
Sweet tyrant of all !
I drank at thy fountain
False waters of thirst ;
Thou intimate stranger,
Thou latest and first !
Thy dangerous glances
Make women of men ;
New-born, we are melting
Into Nature again.

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