Shalt thou behold me or by day or night,

Me, who would fain have blessed thee with a love

More ripe and bounteous than ever yet Filled up with nectar any mortal heart: But thou didst scorn my humble messenger,

And sent'st him back to me with bruised wings.

We spirits only show to gentle eyes,
We ever ask an undivided love,

And he who scorns the least of Nature's works

Is thenceforth exiled and shut out from all.

Farewell for thou canst never see me more."

Then Rhocus beat his breast, and groaned aloud,

And cried, "Be pitiful! forgive me vet This once, and shall never need it

more!"

"Alas!" the voice returned, "'t is thou art blind,

Not I unmerciful; I can forgive,
But have no skill to heal thy spirit's eyes;
Only the soul hath power o'er itself"
With that again there murmured
"Nevermore!"

And Rhocus after heard no other sound, Except the rattling of the oak's crisp leaves,

Like the long surf upon a distant shore, Raking the sea-worn pebbles up and down.

The night had gathered round him: o'er the plain

The city sparkled with its thousand lights,

And sounds of revel fell upon his ear Harshly and like a curse: above, the sky, With all its bright sublimity of stars, Deepened, and on his forehead smote the breeze:

Beauty was all around him and delight, But from that eve he was alone on earth.

THE FALCON.

I KNOW a falcon swift and peerless As e'er was cradled in the pine:

WHETHER the idle prisoner through his grate

Watches the waving of the grass-tuft small,

Which, having colonized its rift i' the wall,

Takes its free risk of good or evil fate, And, from the sky's just helmet draws its lot

Daily of shower or sunshine, cold or hot;

Whether the closer captive of a creed, Cooped up from birth to grind out endless chaff,

Sees through his treadmill-bars the noonday laugh,

And feels in vain his crumpled pinions breed ;

Whether the Georgian slave look up and mark,

With bellying sails puffed full, the tall cloud-bark

Sink northward slowly, -thou alone seem'st good,

Fair only thou, O Freedom, whose desire

A REQUIEM.

Ay, pale and silent maiden,
Cold as thou liest there,
Thine was the sunniest nature
That ever drew the air,
The wildest and most wayward,
And yet so gently kind,
Thou seemedst but to body
A breath of summer wind.

Into the eternal shadow

That girds our life around, Into the infinite silence

Wherewith Death's shore is bound, Thou hast gone forth, beloved!

And I were mean to weep,
That thou has left Life's shallows,
And dost possess the Deep.

Thou liest low and silent,

Thy heart is cold and still, Thine eyes are shut forever,

And Death hath had his will; He loved and would have taken, I loved and would have kept,

WORN and footsore was the Prophet, When he gained the holy hill; "God has left the earth," he murmured, "Here his presence lingers still.

"God of all the olden prophets, Wilt thou speak with men no more? Have I not as truly served thee

As thy chosen ones of yore?

"Hear me, guider of my fathers, Lo! a humble heart is mine; By thy mercy I beseech thee

Grant thy servant but a sign!"

Bowing then his head, he listened

For an answer to his prayer;
No loud burst of thunder followed,
Not a murmur stirred the air:

But the tuft of moss before him
Opened while he waited yet,
And, from out the rock's hard bosom,
Sprang a tender violet.

"God! I thank thee," said the Prophet;

"Hard of heart and blind was I, Looking to the holy mountain For the gift of prophecy.

"Still thou speakest with thy children Freely as in eld sublime; Humbleness, and love, and patience, Still give empire over time.

"Had I trusted in my nature, And had faith in lowly things, Thou thyself wouldst then have sought

me,

And set free my spirit's wings.

"But I looked for signs and wonders,
That o'er men should give me sway;
Thirsting to be more than mortal,
I was even less than clay.

"Ere I entered on my journey,

As I girt my loins to start, Ran to me my little daughter,

The beloved of my heart;

"In her hand she held a flower, Like to this as like may be, Which, beside my very threshold, She had plucked and brought to me." 1842.

But whence came that ray? We call our sorrows Destiny, but ought Rather to name our high successes so. Only the instincts of great soulsare Fate, And have predestined sway: all other things,

Except by leave of us, could never be. For Destiny is but the breath of God Still moving in us, the last fragment left Of our unfallen nature, waking oft Within our thought, to beckon us beyond

The narrow circle of the seen and known,

And always tending to a noble end, As all things must that overrule the soul,

And for a space unseat the helmsman,

Will.

head,

And an arm prompt to do the 'hests of both.

His was a brow where gold were out of place,

And yet it seemed right worthy of a

crown

(Though he despised such), were it only made

And makes the wicked but his instruments

To hasten on their swift and sudden fall,

I see the beauty of his providence In the King's order: blind, he will not let

His doom part from him, but must bid it stay

As 't were a cricket, whose enlivening chirp

He loved to hear beneath his very hearth.

Why should we fly? Nay, why not rather stay

And rear again our Zion's crumbled walls,

Not, as of old the walls of Thebes were built,

By minstrel twanging, but, if need should be,