He needs no ship to cross the tide, Who, in the lives about him, sees Fair window - prospects opening wide O'er history's fields on every side, To Ind and Egypt, Rome and Greece. Whatever moulds of various brain E'er shaped the world to weal or woe, Whatever empires' wax and wane To him that hath not eyes in vain, Our village-microcosm can show. Come back our ancient walks to tread, 31 Dear haunts of lost or scattered friends, Old Harvard's scholar-factories red, Where song and smoke and laugh ter sped Where a twin sky but just before The nights to proctor - haunted Deepened, and double swallows Its slopes of long-tamed green be- Clear-edged the lines of roof and The Charles his steel-blue sickle The moon-flood creeps more wide crooks. and wide; Up a ridged beach of cloudy gray, Where, as the cloudbergs east- Curved round the east as round a tide. From glow to gloom the hillsides It slips and spreads its gradual shift For years thrice three, wise Hor- A poem rare let silence bind; In deepest arches of the mind. 100 She did not set us moral theses, And scorned to have her sweet caprices Come back! Not ours the Old Strait-waistcoated in you or me. World's good, The Old World's ill, thank God, I, who take root and firmly cling, At noon the slumberous poppies The flightiest maid that ever hov. over,) ered 40 Was something hidden from mine To me your thought-webs fine dis An hour they pitch their shifting The conscience of the changeful tents seasons, In thoughts, in feelings, and The Will that in the planets rea SELF-STUDY A PRESENCE both by night and day, PICTURES FROM APPLE DORE I That made my life seem just be- A HEAP of bare and splintery It seemed to brush me with its No island, but rather the skeleton hair; Bathed I, I heard a mermaid's Of a wrecked and vengeance-smit Gasping under titanic ferns; Who was the nymph? Nay, I will Round which, though the winds in heaven be shut, see, Methought, and I will know her The nightmared ocean murmurs near; If such, divined, her charm can be, | Seen and possessed, how triply dear! So every magic art I tried, and yearns, Welters, and swashes, and tosses, and turns, And the dreary black seaweed lolls and wags; Only rock from shore to shore, And spells as numberless as Only a moan through the bleak sand, Until, one evening, by my side I saw her glowing fulness stand. I turned to clasp her, but 'Farewell,' clefts blown, With sobs in the rifts where the coarse kelp shifts, Falling and lifting, tossing and drifting, And under all a deep, dull roar, 20 Parting she sighed,' we meet no Dying and swelling, forevermore,— more; Not by my hand the curtain fell That leaves you conscious, wise, and poor. Rock and moan and roar alone, thing unknown, Since you have found me out, I These make Appledore by night: All you have read of, fancied, (The cellars where once stood a village, men say,) dreamed, When you waked at night because Huddling for warmth, and never you screamed, There they lie for half a mile, Jumbled together in a pile, grew 30 Tall enough for a peep at the sea; And (though you know they never once stir) If you look long, they seem to be moving A general dazzle of open blue; A breeze always blowing and play. ing rat-tat With the bow of the ribbon round your hat; 60 Just as plainly as plain can be, and shoving Out into the awful sea, but stare Up or down at you everywhere; Where you can hear them snort Three or four cattle that chew the and spout cud With pauses between, as if they Lying about in a listless despair; A medrick that makes you look were listening, Then tumult anon when the surf breaks glistening In the blackness where they wal low about. II 40 as lead, Splits the water with sudden thud; All this you would scarcely com- This is Appledore by day. prehend, Should you see the isle on a sunny day; A common island, you will say ; 70 But stay a moment: only climb Then it is simple enough in its Up to the highest rock of the isle, Stand there alone for a little while, And with gentle approaches it grows sublime, Dilating slowly as you win A sense from the silence to take it in. So wide the loneness, so lucid the air, The granite beneath you so sav. agely bare, You well might think you were looking down From some sky-silenced mountain's crown, 80 Whose waist-belt of pines is wont to tear Locks of wool from the topmost cloud. Only be sure you go alone, That crouch in hollows where they | For may, Grandeur proud, is inaccessibly |