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The seas are quiet when the winds give o'er;
So calm are we when passions are no more.
For then we know how vain it was to boast
Of fleeting things, so certain to be lost.

Clouds of affection from our younger eyes
Conceal that emptiness which age descries.
The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and de-
cay'd,

Lets in new light through chinks that time
has made.

Stronger by weakness, wiser men become
As they draw near to their eternal home.
Leaving the old, both worlds at once they
view,

Thrice blest whose lives are faithful prayers,
Whose loves in higher love endure;
What soul possess themselves so pure,
Or is there blessedness like theirs?

LIV.

Oh yet we trust that somehow good
Will be the final goal of ill,

To pangs of nature, sins of will,
Defects of doubt, and taints of blood;

That nothing walks with aimless feet;
That not one life shall be destroyed,
Or cast as rubbish to the void,
When God hath made the pile complete;

That stand upon the threshold of the new. That not a worm is cloven in vain;

EDMUND WALLER.

FROM IN MEMORIAM.”

1.

I HELD it truth, with him who sings
To one clear harp in divers tones,
That men may rise on stepping-stones
Of their dead selves to higher things.
But who shall so forecast the years

And find in loss a gain to match?
Or reach a hand thro' time to catch
The far-off interest of tears?

Let Love clasp Grief lest both be drown'd,
Let darkness keep her raven gloss:
Ah, sweeter to be drunk with loss,
To dance with death, to beat the ground,
Than that the victor Hours should scorn
The long result of love, and boast,
"Behold the man that loved and lost,
But all he was is overworn."

XXXII.

Her eyes are homes of silent prayer,

Nor other thought her mind admits But, he was dead, and there he sits, And He that brought him back is there.

Then one deep love doth supersede

All other, when her ardent gaze Roves from the living brother's face, And rests upon the Life indeed.

All subtle thought, all curious fears,

Borne down by gladness so complete, She bows, she bathes the Saviour's feet With costly spikenard and with tears.

That not a moth with vain desire

Is shrivell'd in a fruitless fire,
Or but subserves another's gain.

Behold, we know not anything;

I can but trust that good shall fall
At last-far off-at last, to all,
And every winter change to spring.

So runs my dream: but what am I?
An infant crying in the night:
An infant crying for the light:
And with no language but a cry.

LXXVIII.

Again at Christmas did we weave

The holly round the Christmas hearth;
The silent snow possessed the earth,
And calmly fell our Christmas-eve:
The yule-clog sparkled keen with frost.
No wing of wind the region swept,
But over all things brooding slept
The quiet sense of something lost.
As in the winters left behind

Again our ancient games had place,
The mimic picture's breathing grace,
And dance and song and hoodman-blind.
Who show'd a token of distress?

No single tear, no mark of pain:
O sorrow, then can sorrow wane?
O grief, can grief be changed to less?

O last regret, regret can die!

No-mixt with all this mystic frame,
Her deep relations are the same,
But with long use her tears are dry.

CVI.

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light:
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.
Ring out the old, ring in the new,

Ring, happy bells, across the snow :
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.
Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,

And ancient forms of party strife; Ring in the nobler modes of life, With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,

The faithless coldness of the times; Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.
Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

RECESSIONAL.

(London Times, July 17, 1897.) GOD of our fathers, known of oldLord of our far-flung battle-lineBeneath whose awful hand we hold Dominion over palm and pineLord God of hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget-lest we forget!

The tumult and the shouting diesThe captains and the kings departStill stands Thine ancient sacrifice,

An humble and a contrite heart. Lord God of hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget-lest we forget!

Far-called our navies melt away

On dune and headland sinks the fireLo, all our pomp of yesterday

Is one with Nineveh and Tyre! Judge of the nations, spare us yet, Lest we forget--lest we forget!

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose Wild tongues that have not Thee in aweSuch boasting as the Gentiles use

Or lesser breeds without the lawLord God of hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget-lest we forget!

For heathen heart that puts her trust
In reeking tube and iron shard-
All valiant dust that builds on dust,

And guarding calls not Thee to guard-
For frantic boast and foolish word,
Thy mercy on thy people, Lord! Amen.

RUDYARD KIPLING.

POEMS OF SENTIMENT.

ON THE PROSPECT OF PLANTING | Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a ARTS AND LEARNING IN AMERICA.

THE Muse, disgusted at an age and clime

Barren of every glorious theme,

In distant lands now waits a better time, Producing subjects worthy fame.

In happy climes, where from the genial

sun

And virgin earth such scenes ensue, The force of Art by Nature seems outdone, And fancied beauties by the true;

In happy climes, the seat of innocence,

Where Nature guides and Virtue rules, Where men shall not impose for truth and

sense

The pedantry of courts and schools;
There shall be sung another golden age,
The rise of empire and of arts,
The good and great inspiring epic rage,
The wisest heads and noblest hearts.

Not such as Europe breeds in her decay;
Such as she bred when fresh and young,
When heavenly flame did animate her
clay,

By future poets shall be sung.

Westward the course of empire takes its way;

The four first acts already past,

A fifth shall close the drama with the day; Time's noblest offspring is the last.

GEORGE BERKELEY,

A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT.

WHAT was he doing, the great god Pan, Down in the reeds by the river? Spreading ruin and scattering ban.

46

goat,

And breaking the golden lilies afloat
With the dragon-fly on the river?

He tore out a reed, the great god Pan,

From the deep, cool bed of the river. The limpid water turbidly ran, And the broken lilies a-dying lay, And the dragon-fly had fled away,

Ere he brought it out of the river.

High on the shore sate the great god Pan,

While turbidly flow'd the river,

And hack'd and hew'd as a great god can With his hard, bleak steel at the patient reed,

Till there was not a sign of a leaf indeed To prove it fresh from the river.

He cut it short, did the great god Pan
(How tall it stood in the river!)
Then drew the pith like the heart of a
man,

Steadily from the outside ring,
Then notch'd the poor dry empty thing
In holes as he sate by the river.

"This is the way," laugh'd the great god

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Yet half a beast is the great god Pan,

To laugh, as he sits by the river,

Making a poet out of a man.

Then, round her slender waist he curl'd, And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign of the world.

The true gods sigh for the cost and the The listening crowd admire the lofty

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The master saw the madness rise-
His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes;
And, while he Heaven and earth defied,
Changed his hand and check'd his pride.
He chose a mournful muse,
Soft pity to infuse :

He sung Darius great and good,
By too severe a fate

Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen-
Fallen from his high estate,

And welt'ring in his blood;
Deserted, at his utmost need,
By those his former bounty fed;
On the bare earth exposed he lies,
With not a friend to close his eyes.
With downcast looks the joyless victor

sate

Revolving in his alter'd soul

And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd, Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again.

At length, with love and wine at once oppress'd,

The vanquish'd victor sunk upon her breast.

CHORUS.

The prince, unable to conceal his pain, Gazed on the fair

Who caused his care,

And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd, Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again. At length, with love and wine at once op

press'd,

The vanquish'd victor sunk upon her breast.

VI.

The various turns of chance be- Now strike the golden lyre again

low;

And, now and then, a sigh he stole ;

And tears began to flow.

CHORUS.

Revolving in his alter'd soul

The various turns of chance be

low;

A louder yet, and yet a louder strain!
Break his bands of sleep asunder,
And rouse him, like a rattling peal of
thunder.

Hark, hark! the horrid sound

Has raised up his head!

As awaked from the dead,
And amazed, he stares around.

And, now and then, a sigh he stole; Revenge! revenge! Timotheus cries;

And tears began to flow.

V.

The mighty master smiled to see
That love was in the next degree:
"Twas but a kindred sound to move,
For pity melts the mind to love.

Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures. War, he sung, is toil and trouble; Honor but an empty bubble

Never ending, still beginningFighting still, and still destroying;

If the world be worth thy winning, Think, oh think it worth enjoying!

Lovely Thais sits beside theeTake the good the gods provide thee. The many rend the sky with loud applause;

So Love was crown'd, but Music won the

cause.

The prince, unable to conceal his pain, Gazed on the fair

Who caused his care,

See the Furies arise!

See the snakes that they rear,

How they hiss in their hair,

And the sparkles that flash from their eyes!

Behold a ghastly band,

Each a torch in his hand!

Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain,

And unburied remain,
Inglorious, on the plain!
Give the vengeance due
To the gallant crew.

Behold how they toss their torches on high,
How they point to the Persian abodes,
And glittering temples of their hostile
gods!

The princes applaud with a furious joy, And the king seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy;

Thais led the way

To light him to his prey, And, like another Helen, fired another

Troy.

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