That shamed his grave. The world begins to know

Her loss, and view with other eyes his fate.

Even as the cunning workman brings to pass The sculptor's thought from out the unwieldy mass

Of shapeless marble, so Time lops away The stony crust of falsehood that concealed

His just proportions, and, at last revealed, The statue issues to the light of day,

Most beautiful, most human. Let them fling

The first stone who are tempted even as he,

And have not swerved.

rare soul sing

When did that

The victim's shame, the tyrant's eulogy, The great belittle, or exalt the small, Or grudge his gift, his blood, to disenthrall The slaves of tyranny or ignorance ? Stung by fierce tongues himself, whose rightful fame

Hath he reviled?

name

Upon what noble

THERE was a man who watched the river flow

Past the huge town, one gray November day.

Round him in narrow high-piled streets at play

The boys made merry as they saw him go,

Murmuring half-loud, with eyes upon the

stream,

The immortal screed he held within his hand.

For he was walking in an April land With Faust and Helen. Shadowy as a dream

Was the prose-world, the river and the

town.

Wild joy possessed him; through enchanted

skies

He saw the cranes of Ibycus swoop down. He closed the page, he lifted up his eyes, Lo a black line of birds in wavering

thread

Bore him the greetings of the deathless dead!

THE BANNER OF THE JEW

WAKE, Israel, wake! Recall to-day
The glorious Maccabean rage,
The sire heroic, hoary-gray,
His five-fold lion-lineage

The Wise, the Elect, the Help-of-God,
The Burst-of-Spring, the Avenging Rod.1

From Mizpeh's mountain-ridge they saw
Jerusalem's empty streets, her shrine
Laid waste where Greeks profaned the Law
With idol and with pagan sign.
Mourners in tattered black were there,
With ashes sprinkled on their hair.

Then from the stony peak there rang

A blast to ope the graves: down poured The Maccabean clan, who sang

Their battle-anthem to the Lord. Five heroes lead, and, following, see Ten thousand rush to victory!

Oh for Jerusalem's trumpet now,

To blow a blast of shattering power, To wake the sleepers high and low,

And rouse them to the urgent hour! No hand for vengeance- but to save, A million naked swords should wave.

Oh deem not dead that martial fire,

Say not the mystic flame is spent! With Moses' law and David's lyre,

Your ancient strength remains unbent. Let but an Ezra rise anew, To lift the Banner of the Jew!

A rag, a mock at first-erelong,

When men have bled and women wept, To guard its precious folds from wrong, Even they who shrunk, even they who slept, Shall leap to bless it, and to save. Strike! for the brave revere the brave!

THE CROWING OF THE RED
COCK

ACROSS the Eastern sky has glowed
The flicker of a blood-red dawn;
Once more the clarion cock has crowed,
Once more the sword of Christ is drawn.
A million burning roof-trees light
The world-wide path of Israel's flight.

Where is the Hebrew's fatherland?

The folk of Christ is sore bestead;
The Son of Man is bruised and banned,
Nor finds whereon to lay his head.
His cup is gall, his meat is tears,
His passion lasts a thousand years.

MY LETTER

FROM far away, from far away,
It journeyed swiftly night and day,
It rested not. With cruel haste

It crossed the ocean's trackless waste.
It swerved no moment in its flight
Through mist and storm and deepest night.
No mercy prompted it to stay,
No pity moved it to delay.
O'er seas that rose up to detain,
Silent as Death it sped amain.
Through cities crowding close and strong,
Undazed, untired, it fled along.

No voice cried out through all the land,
Great Heaven saw, yet stirred no hand.
No angel, kinder than the rest,
Held his white shield before my breast.
Across the land, across the sea,

Straight, swift, and sure, it came to me !
Unlet, unhindered, undeterred,

Straight, swift, and sure, it brought me word!

While I, whose wound bleeds overmuch, Go all unnursed.

There, Sweet. Run back now to your play,
Forget your woes.

I too was sorely hurt this day, -
But no one knows.

MY OTHER ME

CHILDREN, do you ever,
In walks by land or sea,
Meet a little maiden
Long time lost to me!

She is gay and gladsome,
Has a laughing face,
And a heart as sunny;

And her name is Grace.

Naught she knows of sorrow,
Naught of doubt or blight;
Heaven is just above her-

All her thoughts are white.

Long time since I lost her,

That other Me of mine; She crossed into Time's shadow Out of Youth's sunshine.

Now the darkness keeps her;
And, call her as I will,
The years that lie between us
Hide her from me still.

I am dull and pain-worn,

And lonely as can be — Oh, children, if you meet her, Send back my other Me!

And the Sereno knows that he has seen The spectre of the Past, the ghost of Spain.

THE SPHINX SPEAKS

CARVED by a mighty race whose vanished hands

Formed empires more destructible than I,
In sultry silence I forever lie,
Wrapped in the shifting garment of the
sands.

Below me, Pharaoh's scintillating bands With clashings of loud cymbals have passed by,

And the eternal reverence of the sky
Falls royally on me and all my lands.
The record of the future broods in me;

I have with worlds of blazing stars been crowned,

But none my subtle mystery hath known Save one, who made his way through blood and sea,

The Corsican, prophetic and renowned, To whom I spake, one awful night alone!

THE BAYADERE

NEAR strange, weird temples, where the Ganges' tide

Bathes domed Lahore, I watched, by spicetrees fanned,

Her agile form in some quaint saraband, A marvel of passionate chastity and pride.

Nude to the loins, superb and leopardeyed,

With fragrant roses in her jewelled hand, Before some Kaât-drunk Rajah, mute and grand,

Her flexile body bends, her white feet glide.

The dull Kinoors throb one monotonous tune,

And wail with zeal as in a hasheesh trance;

Her scintillant eyes in vague, ecstatic charm

Burn like black stars below the Orient moon,

While the suave, dreamy languor of the

dance

Lulls the grim, drowsy cobra on her arm.