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Till the war-drum throbbed no longer, and the Woman is the lesser man, and all thy passions, battle-flags were furled

matched with mine, In the parliament of man, the federation of the Are as moonlight unto sunlight, and as water world.

unto wine

There the common sense of most shall hold a Here at least, where nature sickens, nothing. fretful realm in awe,

Ah for some retreat And the kindly earth shall slumber, lapt in uni. Deep in yonder shining Orient, where my life versal law.

began to beat! So I triumphed ere ny passion sweeping through where in wild Mahratta-battle fell my father, me left me dry,

evil-starred; Left me with a palsied heart, and left me with 1 was left a trampled orphan, and a selfish the jaundiced eye;

uncle's ward. Eye, to which all order festers, all things here or to burst all links of habit, – there to wander

are out of joint. Science moves, but slowly, slowly, creeping on On from island unto island at the gateways of from point to point :

the day,

far away,

Slowly comes a hungry people, as a lion, creep- Larger constellations burning, mellow moons and ing nigher,

happy skies, Glares at one that nods and winks behind a Breadths of tropic shade and palms in cluster, slowly dying fire.

knots of Paradise.

Yet I doubt not through the ages one increasing Never comes the trader, never floats an European purpose runs,

flag, And the thoughts of men are widened with the Slides the bird o'er lustrous woodland, swings process of the suns.

the trailer from the crag,

What is that to him that reaps not harvest of Droops the heavy-blossomed bower, hang; the his youthful joys,

heavy-fruited tree, Vrough the deep heart of existence beat forever Summer isles of Eilen lying in dark purple like a boy's ?

spheres of sea.

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers ; and I There, methinks, would be enjoyment more than linger on the shore,

in this march of mind And the individual withers, and the world is in the steamship, in the railway, in the thoughts more and more.

that shake mankind.

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and he There the passions, cramped no longer, shall bears a laden breast,

have scope and breathing-space ; Full of sad experience moving toward the still. I will take some savage woman, she shall rear ness of his rest.

my dusky race.

Hark! my merry comrades call me, sounding on Iron-jointed, supple-sinewed, they shall dive, the bugle horn,

and they shall run, They to whom my foolish passion were a target Catch the wild goat by the hair, and hurl their for their scorn ;

lances in the sun,

Shall it not be scorn to me to harp on such a Whistle back the parrot's call, and leap the mouldered string ?

rainbows of the brooks, I am shamed through all my nature to have loved Not with blinded eyesight poring over miserable so slight a thing

books

Weakness to be wroth with weakness ! woman's Fool, again the dream, the fancy ! but I know pleasure, woman's pain

my words are wild, Nature made then blinder notions bounded in But I count the gray barbarian lower than the a shallower brain ;

('hristian child.

I, to herd with narrow foreheads, vacant of our For his, too, somewhat. Let him stand unblameil; glorious gains,

None
say,

he gave me less than honor claimed, Like a beast. with lower pleasures, like a beast Except - --one trifle scarcely worth being named with lower pains !

The heart. That's gone. The corrupt dead might Mated with a squalid savage,

what to me were

be sun or clime?

As easily raised up, breathing, — fair to see, I, the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files. As he could bring his whole heart back to me. of time,

I never sought him in coquettish sport, I, that rather held it better men should perish Or courted him as silly maidens court, one by one,

And wonder when the longed-for prize falls short Than that earth should stand at gaze like Joshua's moon in Ajalon !

I only loved him, any woman would :

But shut my love up till he came and sued, Not in vain the distance beacons. Forward, Then poured it o'er his dry life like a flood.

forward let us range ; Let the great world spin forever down the ring. I was so happy I could make him blest ! ing grooves of change.

So happy that I was his first and best,

As he mine, — when he took me to his breast. Through the shadow of the globe we sweep into the younger day:

Ah me! if only then he had been true!
Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of If for one little year, a month or two,
Cathay.
He had given me love for love, as was my

due ! Mother-age, (for mine I knew not,) help me as Or had he told me, ere the deed was done, when life begun,

He only raised me to his heart's dear throne Rift the hills, and roll the waters, flash the Poor substitute – because the queen was gone ! lightnings, weigh the sun,

0, had he whispered, when his sweetest kiss 0, I see the crescent promise of my spirit hath Was warm upon my mouth in fancied bliss, not set ;

He had kissed another woman even as this, Ancient founts of inspiration well through all my fancy yet.

It were less bitter! Sometimes I could weep

To be thus cheated, like a child asleep ;Howsoever these things be, a long farewell to Were not my anguish far too dry and deep.

Locksley Hall : Now for me the woods may wither, now for me So I built my house upon another's ground; the roof-tree fall.

Mocked with a heart just caught at the rebound,

A cankered thing that looked so firm and sound. Comes a vapor from the margin, blackening over heath and holt,

And when that heart grew colder, - colder still, Cramming all the blast before it, in its breast a I, ignorant, tried all duties to fulfil

, thunderbolt.

Blaming my foolish pain, exacting will,

I go.

ALFRED TEXNYSON.

Let it fall on Locksley Hall, with rain or hail, or All, - anything but him. It was to be fire or snow ;

The full draught others drink up carelessly For the mighty wind arises, roaring seaward, and Was made this bitter Tantalus-cup for me.

I say again, -- he gives me all I claimed,

I and my children never shall be shamed :
ONLY A WOMAN.

He is a just man, — he will live unblamed.

Only -- () God, O God, to cry for bread,
Through passionate duty love flames higher,

And get a stone! Daily to lay my head
As grass grows taller round a stone.

Upon a bosom where the old love's dead !

"She loves with love that cannot tire :

And if, al, woe! she loves alone,

COVENTRY PAIMORE.

So, the truth's out. I'll grasp it like a snake,
It will not slay me.

My heart shall not break
Awhile, if only for the children's sake.

Dearl ? – Fool! It never lived. It only stirred Galvanic, like an hour-cold corpse. None heard : So let me bury it without a word.

One morning (I remember well)
Tied in this silver chain and bell,
Gave it to me; nay, and I know
What he said then, - I'm sure I do :
Said he, “ Look how your huntsman here
Hath taught a fawn to hunt his dear!”
But Sylvio soon had me beguiled :
This waxed tame, while he grew wild ;
And, quite regardless of my smart,
Left me his fawn, but took his heart.

Thenceforth I set myself to play
My solitary time away
With this ; and, very well content,
Could so mine idle life have spent.
For it was full of sport, and light
Of foot and heart, and did invite
Me to its game. It seemed to bless
Itself in me ; how could I less
Than love it? O, I cannot be
Unkind to a beast that loveth me!

Had it lived long, I do not know
Whether it, too, might have done so
As Sylvio did, his gifts might be
Perhaps as false, or more, than he.
For I am sure, for aught that I
Could in so short a time espy,
Thy love was far inore better than
The love of false and cruel man.

With sweetest milk and sugar, first
I it at mine own fingers nursed ;
And as it grew, so every day
It waxed more white and sweet than they.
It had so sweet a breath ! and oft
I blushed to see its foot more soft
And white --- shall I say than my hand ?
Nay, any lady's of the land.

It is a wondrous thing how fleet
'T was on those little silver feet.
With what a pretty, skipping grace
It oft would challenge me the race;
And when 't had left me far away,
'T would stay, and run again, and stay ;
For it was nimbler much than hinds,
And trod as if on the four winds.

I have a garden of my own,
But so with roses overgrown,
And lilies, that you would it guess
To be a little wilderness ;
And all the springtime of the year
It only loved to be there.
Among the beds of lilies I
Have sought it oft, where it should lie;
Yet could not, till itself would rise,
Find it, although before mine eyes ;
For in the flaxen lilies' shade
It like a bank of lilies laid.
Upon the roses it would feed,
Until its lips even seemed to bleed;

te 'll keep that other woman from my sight.
I know not if her face be foul or bright;
I only know that it was his delight
As his was mine ; I only know he stands
Pale, at the touch of their long-severed hands,
Then to a flickering smile his lips commands,

Lest I should grieve, or jealous anger show.
He need not. When the ship's gone down, I trow,
We little reck whatever wind may blow.

And so my silent moan begins and ends,
No world's laugh or world's taunt, no pity of

friends Or sneer of foes, with this my torment blends.

None knows, - none heeds. I have a little pride;
Enough to stand up, wifelike, by his side,
With the same smile as when I was his bride.

And I shall take his children to my arms;
They will not miss these fading, worthless charms;
Their kiss — ah! unlike his — all pain disarms.
And haply as the solemn years go by,
He will think sometimes, with regretful sigh,
The other woman was less true than I.

DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK.

DEATH OF THE WHITE FAWN.

The wanton troopers, riding by,
Have shot my fawn, and it will die.
Ungentle men ! they cannot thrive
Who killed thee. Thou ne'er didst, alive,
Them any harm ; alas! nor could
Thy death yet do them any good.
I'm sure I never wished them ill,
Nor do I for all this, nor will ;
But if my simple prayers may yet
Prevail with Heaven to forget
Thy murder, I will join my tears,
Rather than fail. But, O my fears !
It cannot die so. Heaven's king
Keeps register of everything;
And nothing may we use in vain ;
Even beasts must be with justice slain,
Else men are made their deodands.
Though they should wash their guilty hands
In this warm life-blood, which doth part
From thine and wound me to the heart,
Yet could they not be clean, their stain
Is dyed in such a purple grain ;
There is not such another in
The world to offer for their sin.

Inconstant Sylvio, when yet
I had not found him counterfeit,

Tears that had melted his soft heart : for years

Wept he as bitter tears ! “Merciful God !" such was his latest prayer,

“These may she never share !" Quieter is his breath, his breast more cold

Than daisies in the mould,
Where children spell athwart the churchyard gate

His name and life's brief date.
Pray for him, gentle souls, whoe'er ye be,

And 0, pray, too, for me!

WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.

IN A YEAR. Never any more

While I live, Need I hope to see his face

As before. Once his love grown chill,

Mine may strive, Bitterly we re-embrace,

Single still.

Was it something said,

Something done, Vexed him ? was it touch of hand,

Turn of head ?
Strange! that very way

Love begun.
I as little understand

Love's decay.

When I sewed or drew,

I recall
How he looked as if I sang

Sweetly too.
If I spoke a word,

First of all Up his cheek the color sprang,

Then he heard.

Sitting by my side,

At my feet,
So he breathed the air I breathed,

Satisfied !
I, too, at love's brim

Touched the sweet :
I would die if death bequeathed

Sweet to him.

And then to me 't would boldly trip,
And print those roses on my lip.
But all its chief delight was still
On roses thus itself to fill ;
And its pure virgin limbs to fold
In whitest sheets of lilies cold.
Had it lived long, it would have been
Lilies without, roses within.

O, help! O, help! I see it faint,
Aud die as calmly as a saint !
See how it weeps ! the tears do come,
Sad, slowly, dropping like a gum.
So weeps the wounded balsam ; so
The holy frankincense doth flow;
The brotherless Heliades
Melt in such amber tears as these.

I in a golden phial will
Keep these two crystal tears, and fill
It, till it do o'erflow, with mine;
Then place it in Diana's shrine.

Now my sweet fawn is vanished to
Whither the swans and turtles go,
In fair Elysium to endure,
With milk-white lambs, and ermines pure.
0, do not run too fast! for I
Will but bespeak thy grave — and die.

First, my unhappy statue shall
Be cut in marble ; and withal,
Let it be weeping too. But there
The engraver sure his art may spare ;
For I so truly thee bemoan
That I shall weep, though I be stone,
Until my tears, still dropping, wear
My breast, themselves engraving there.
There at my feet shalt thou be laid,
Of purest alabaster made ;
For I would have thine image be
White as I can, though not as thee.

ANDREW MARVELL.

THE MAID'S LAMENT. | LOVED him not ; and yet, now he is gone,

I feel I am alone.
I checked him while he spoke; yet could he speak,

Alas! I would not check.
For reasons not to love him once I sought,

And wearied all my thought
To vex myself and him : I now would give

My love, could he but live
Who lately lived for me, and when he found

'T was vain, in holy ground
He hid his face amid the shades of death !

I waste for him my breath
Who wasted his for me ; but mine returns,

And this lone bosom burns
With stifling heat, heaving it up in sleep,

And waking me to weep

"Speak, - I love thee best !"

He exclained. “Let thy love my own foretell,”.

I confessed : “Clasp my heart on thine

Now unblamed, Since upon thy soul as well

Hangeth mine!"

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“ What --- she felt the while,

Must I think?
Love's so different with us men,"

He should smile. “Dying for my sake -

White and pink !
Can't we touch these bubbles then

But they break?"
Dear, the pang is brief.

Do thy part, Have thy pleasure. How perplext

Grows belief! Well, this cold clay clod

Was man's heart. Crumble it, --- and what comes next?

Is it God?

And as the dove to far Palmyra flying

From where her native founts of Antioch beam, Weary, exhausted, longing, panting, sighing,

Lights sadly at the desert's bitter stream ; So many a soul, o'er life's drear desert faring, Love's pure congenial spring unfound, un

quaffed, Suffers — recoils then thirsty and despairing Of what it would, descends and sips the near. est draught !

MARIA GOWEN BROOKS (Maria del Occidentej

SHIPS AT SEA.

ROBERT BROWNING.

BLIGHTED LOVE.

Flowers are fresh, and bushes green,

Cheerily the linnets sing ;
Winds are soft, and skies serene ;
Time, however, soon shall throw

Winter's snow
O'er the buxom breast of Spring !
Hope, that buds in lover's heart,

Lives not through the scorn of years ;
Time makes love itself depart ;
Time and scorn congeal the mind, -

Looks unkind
Freeze affection's warmest tears.

I HAVE ships that went to sea

More than fifty years ago ; None have yet come home to me,

But are sailing to and fro.
I have seen them in my sleep,
Plunging through the shoreless deep
With tattered sails and battered hulls,
While around them screamed the gulls,

Flying low, flying low.
I have wondered why they strayed

From me, sailing round the world . And I've said, “I'm half afraid

That their sails will ne'er be furled.' Great the treasures that they hold, Silks, and plumes, and bars of golid; While the spices that they bear Fill with fragrance all the air,

As they sail, as they sail.

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