Ulysses' chances re-create?
When, heralding life's every phase,
There glowed a goddess-veiling haze,
A plenteous, forewarning grace,
Like that more tender dawn that flies
Before the full moon's ample rise?
Methinks thy parting glory shines
Through yonder grove of singing pines;
At that elm-vista's end I trace
Dimly thy sad leave-taking face,
Eurydice! Eurydice!

The tremulous leaves repeat to me
Eurydice! Eurydice!

No gloomier Orcus swallows thee
Than the unclouded sunset's glow;
Thine is at least Elysian woe;
Thou hast Good's natural decay,
And fadest like a star away
Into an atmosphere whose shine
With fuller day o'ermasters thine,
Entering defeat as 't were a shrine;
For us,
we turn life's diary o'er
To find but one word, - Nevermore.

SHE CAME AND WENT.

As a twig trembles, which a bird
Lights on to sing, then leaves unbent,
So is my memory thrilled and stirred ;-
I only know she came and went.

As clasps some lake, by gusts unriven,
The blue dome's measureless content,
So my soul held that moment's heaven;-
I only know she came and went.

As, at one bound, our swift spring heaps
The orchards full of bloom and scent,
So clove her May my wintry sleeps ;
I only know she came and went.

An angel stood and met my gaze,
Through the low doorway of my tent;
The tent is struck, the vision stays;

I only know she came and went.

O, when the room grows slowly dim, And life's last oil is nearly spent, One gush of light these eyes will brim, Only to think she came and went.

THE CHANGELING.

I HAD a little daughter,
And she was given to me

To lead me gently backward

To the Heavenly Father's knee,

She had been with us scarce a twelvemonth,

And it hardly seemed a day, When a troop of wandering angels

Stole my little daughter away; Or perhaps those heavenly Zingari

But loosed the hampering strings, And when they had opened her cagedoor,

My little bird used her wings.

But they left in her stead a changeling, A little angel child,

That seems like her bud in full blossom,

And smiles as she never smiled: When I wake in the morning, I see it Where she always used to lie, And I feel as weak as a violet Alone 'neath the awful sky.

As weak, yet as trustful also;

For the whole year long I see
All the wonders of faithful Nature
Still worked for the love of me;
Winds wander, and dews drip earthward,
Rain falls, suns rise and set,

Earth whirls, and all but to prosper
A poor little violet.

This child is not mine as the first was,

I cannot sing it to rest,

I cannot lift it up fatherly

And bliss it upon my breast;

The wild, free woods make no man halt or blind;

Cities rob men of eyes and hands and feet,

Patching one whole of many incomplete;

The general preys upon the individual mind,

And each alone is helpless as the wind.

Each man is some man's servant; every soul

Is by some other's presence quite discrowned;

Each owes the next through all the imperfect round,

Yet not with mutual help; each man is his own goal,

And the whole earth must stop to pay him toll.

Here, life the undiminished man demands;

New faculties stretch out to meet new wants;

What Nature asks, that Nature also grants;

Here man is lord, not drudge, of eyes and feet and hands,

And to his life is knit with hourly bands.

Come out, then, from the old thoughts and old ways,

Before you harden to a crystal cold Which the new life can shatter, but not mould;

Freedom for you still waits, still, looking backward, stays,

But widens still the irretrievable

space.

LONGING.

Of all the myriad moods of mind
That through the soul come thronging,
Which one was e'er so dear, so kind,

So beautiful as Longing?
The thing we long for, that we are

For one transcendent moment,
Before the Present poor and bare

Can make its sneering comment.

Still, through our paltry stir and strife,
Glows down the wished Ideal,
And Longing moulds in clay what Life
Carves in the marble Real;

To let the new life in, we know,
Desire must ope the portal;
Perhaps the longing to be so

Helps make the soul immortal.

Longing is God's fresh heavenward will With our poor earthward striving; We quench it that we may be still

Content with merely living;

But, would we learn that heart's full scope

Which we are hourly wronging, Our lives must climb from hope to hope And realize our longing.

and their woe,

With eye averted, and an anguished frown,

Loathingly glides the Muse through scenes of strife,

Where, like the heart of Vengeance up and down,

Throbs in its framework the bloodmuffled knife;

Slow are the steps of Freedom, but her feet

Turn never backward: hers no bloody glare;

Her light is calm, and innocent, and sweet,

And where it enters there is no despair:

Not first on palace and cathedral spire Quivers and gleams that unconsuming fire;

While these stand black against her morning skies,

The peasant sees it leap from peak to peak

Along his hills; the craftsman's burning eyes

Own with cool tears its influence mother

meek;

It lights the poet's heart up like a star;

Ah! while the tyrant deemed it still afar,

futile snare,

That swift, convicting glow all round him ran;

'T was close beside him there, Sunrise whose Memnon is the soul of

The Syracusan tyrant; thou mayst feel

Royal amid a birch-swayed commonweal!

snow,

I loved thee, Freedom; as a boy The rattle of thy shield at Marathon

Did with a Grecian joy

Through all my pulses run;

But I have learned to love thee now Without the helm upon thy gleaming brow,

A maiden mild and undefiled Like her who bore the world's redeeming child;

And surely never did thine altars
glance

With purer fires than now in France;
While, in their clear white flashes,

Wrong's shadow, backward cast,
Waves cowering o'er the ashes
Of the dead, blaspheming Past,
O'er the shapes of fallen giants,
His own unburied brood,
Whose dead hands clench defiance

At the overpowering Good : And down the happy future runs a flood Of prophesying light;

It shows an Earth no longer stained with blood,

Blossom and fruit where now we see the

bud

Of Brotherhood and Right.

ANTI-APIS.

PRAISEST Law, friend? We, too, love it much as they that love it best;

'T is the deep, august foundation, whereon Peace and Justice rest;