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Nor thought that gardener, full of scorns For men unlearned and simple phrase, A child would bring it all its praise, By creeping through the thorns!

To me, upon my low moss seat, Though never a dream the roses sent Of science or love's compliment,

I ween they smelt as sweet.

Nor ever a grief was mine, to see The trace of human step departed :— Because the garden was deserted,

The blither place for me!

Friends, blame me not! a narrow ken Hath childhood 'twixt the sun and sward! We draw the moral afterward

We feel the gladness then!

And gladdest hours for me did glide

In silence at the rose-tree wall:

A thrush made gladness musical
Upon the other side.

Nor he nor I did e'er incline
To mar or pluck the blossoms white.-
How should I know but that they might
Lead lives as glad as mine?

To make my hermit-home complete,
I brought clear water from the spring,
Praised in its own low murmuring,-
And cresses glossy wet.

And so, I thought my likeness grew
(Without the melancholy tale)
To gentle hermit of the dale,
And Angelina too!

For oft I read, within my nook,

Such minstrel stories, till the breeze
Made sounds poetic in the trees,―
And then I shut the book.

If I shut this wherein I write,
I hear no more the wind athwart
Those trees!-nor feel that childish heart
Delighting in delight!

My childhood from my life is parted;
My footstep from the moss which drew
Its fairy circle round: anew
The garden is deserted!

Another thrush may there rehearse
The madrigals which sweetest are ;-
No more for me!-myself, afar,
Do sing a sadder verse!

Ah me! ah me!-when erst I lay
In that child's-nest so greenly wrought,
I laughed to myself and thought,
"The time will pass away!"

I laughed still, and did not fear But that, whene'er was past away The childish time, some happier play My womanhood would cheer.

I knew the time would pass away,—
And yet, beside the rose-tree wall,
Dear God!-how seldom, if at all,
I looked up to pray!

The time is past!-and now that grows
The cypress high among the trees,
And I behold white sepulchres

As well as the white rose

When wiser, meeker thoughts are given, And I have learn'd to lift my face, Remembering earth's greenest place The colour draws from heaven

It something saith for earthly pain, But more for heavenly promise free, That I who was, would shrink to be That happy child again!

LOVED ONCE.

I CLASS'D and counted once
Earth's lamentable sounds-the well-a-day,
The jarring yea and nay,

The fall of kisses upon senseless clay,

The sobb'd farewell, the greeting mournfuler,-
But all those accents were

Less bitter with the leaven of earth's despair
Than I thought these loved once."

And who saith "I loved once?"

Not angels; whose clear eyes love, love foresee; Love through eternity

Who by "to love," do apprehend “to be.”

Not God, called love, His noble crown-name; casting
A light too broad for blasting!

The great God, changing not for everlasting,
Saith never, "I loved once."

Nor ever "I loved once"

Wilt thou say, O meek Christ, O victim-friend! The nail and curse may rend,

But, having loved, Thou lovest to the end.

This is man's saying! Impotent to move
One spheric star above,

Man desecrates the eternal God-word Love,
With his "no more" and "once."

How say ye, "We loved once,"
Blasphemers? Is your earth not cold enow,
Mourners, without that snow?

Ah, sweetest friend-and would ye wrong me so? And would ye say of me, whose heart is known, Whose prayers have met your own: [shone, Whose tears have fallen for you; whose smile hath Your words "We loved her once?"

Could ye "we loved her once"

Say cold of me, when dwelling out of sight?
When happier friends aright

(Not truer) stand between me and your light?

When, like a flower kept too long in the shade,
Ye find my colours fade,

And all that is not love in me decay'd,
Say ye, "We loved her once?""

Will ye, "We loved her once"

Say after, when the bearers leave the door?
When having murmur'd o'er

My last "Oh say it not," I speak no more?

Not so-not then-least THEN! when life is shriven,
And death's full joy is given,-

Of those who sit and love you up in heaven,
Say not, "We loved them once."

Say never, "We loved once:"
God is too near above-the grave below:
And all our moments go

Too quickly past our souls for saying so.

The mysteries of life and death avenge

Affections light of range

There comes no change to justify that change,
Whatever comes-loved once!

And yet that word of "once"

Is humanly acceptive-kings have said,
Shaking a discrown'd head,

"We ruled once," idiot tongues, "we once bested."

Cripples once danced i' the vines, and warriors proved

To nurse's rocking moved:

But Love strikes one hour-LovE!
Who dream that they loved once.

[loved Those never

O earth, so full of dreary noises !
O men, with wailing in your voices!
O delved gold, the wailers heap!
O strife, O curse, that o'er it fall!
God makes a silence through you all,

And "giveth His beloved sleep."

His dew drops mutely on the hill;
His cloud above it saileth still,

Though on its slope men toil and reap!
More softly than the dew is shed,
Or cloud is floated overhead,

"He giveth His beloved sleep."
Ha! men may wonder while they scan
A living, thinking, feeling man,

In such a rest his heart to keep;
But angels say-and through the word
I ween their blessed smile is heard-
"He giveth His beloved sleep!"

For me, my heart, that erst did go,
Most like a tired child at a show,

That sees through tears the juggler's leap,Would now its wearied vision close, Would childlike on His love repose,

Who "giveth His beloved sleep!"

And, friends!-dear friends!-when it shall be
That this low breath is gone from me,

And round my bier ye come to weep-
Let me, most loving of you all,
Say, not a tear must o'er her fall-
"He giveth His beloved sleep!"

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EARTH.

How beautiful is earth! my starry thoughts
Look down on it from their unearthly sphere,
And sing symphonious-Beautiful is earth!
The lights and shadows of her myriad hills;
The branching greenness of her myriad woods;
Her sky-affecting rocks; her zoning sea;
Her rushing, gleaming cataracts; her streams
That race below, the wingéd clouds on high;
Her pleasantness of vale and meadow ;-
Hush!
Meseemeth through the leafy trees to ring
A chime of bells to falling waters tuned;
Whereat comes heathen Zephyrus, out of breath
With running up the hills, and shakes his hair
From off his gleesome forehead, bold and glad
With keeping blythe Dan Phoebus company;-
And throws him on the grass, though half-afraid,
First glancing round, lest tempests should be nigh;
And lays close to the ground his ruddy lips,
And shapes their beauty into sound, and calls
On all the petall'd flowers that sit beneath
In hiding-places from the rain and snow,
To loosen the hard soil, and leave their cold,
Sad idlesse, and betake them up to him.
They straightway hear his voice-
A thought did come,
And press from out my soul the heathen dream.
Mine eyes were purged. Straightway did I bind

Round me the garment of my strength, and heard
Nature's death-shrieking-the hereafter cry,
When he o' the lion voice, the rainbow-crown'd,
Shall stand upon the mountains and the sea,
And swear by earth, by heaven's throne, and Him
Who sitteth on the throne, there shall be time
No more, no more! Then, veil'd Eternity
Shall straight unveil her awful countenance
Unto the reeling worlds, and take the place
Of seasons, years, and ages. Aye and aye
Shall be the time of day. The wrinkled heaven
Shall yield her silent sun, made blind and white
With an exterminating light: the wind,
Unchained from the poles, nor having charge
Of cloud or ocean, with a sobbing wail
Shall rush among the stars, and swoon to death.
Yea, the shrunk earth, appearing livid pale
Beneath the red-tongued flame, shall shudder by
From out her ancient place, and leave-a void.
Yet haply by that void the saints redeem'd
May sometimes stray; when memory of sin
Ghost-like shall rise upon their holy souls;
And on their lips shall lie the name of earth
In paleness and in silentness; until,
Each looking on his brother, face to face,
And bursting into sudden happy tears,
(The only tears undried) shall murmur-"Christ!"

THE STUDENT.

"Mr midnight lamp is weary as my soul,And, being unimmortal, has gone out! And now, alone, yon moony lamp of heavenWhich God lit, and not man-illuminates These volumes, others wrote in weariness,As I have read them; and this cheek and brow, Whose paleness, burned in with heats of thought, Would make an angel smile, to see how ill Clay, thrust from Paradise, consorts with mindIf angels could, like men, smile bitterly!

"Yet must my brow be paler! I have vow'd
To clip it with the crown which cannot fade,
When it is faded. Not in vain ye cry,
Oh! glorious voices, that survive the tongues
From whence was drawn your separate sovereignty,
For I would reign beside you! I would melt
The golden treasures of my health and life
Into that name! My lips are vow'd apart
From cheerful words-mine ears from pleasant
sounds-

Mine eyes from sights God made so beautiful-
My feet from wanderings under shady trees-
My hands from clasping of dear-loving friends-
My very heart from feelings which move soft!
Vow'd am I from the day's delightsomeness,
And dreams of night!—and when the house is dumb
In sleep-which is the pause 'twixt life and life-
I live and waken thus; and pluck away
Slumber's sleek poppies from my painéd lids-
Goading my mind, with thongs wrought by herself,
To toil and struggle along this mountain-path-
Which hath no mountain-airs-until she sweat,
Like Adam's brow,-and gasp, and rend away,
In agony, her garment of the flesh!"

And so, his midnight lamp was lit anew,— And burn'd till morning. But his lamp of life Till morning burn'd not! He was found embraced, Close, cold and stiff, by death's compelling sleep; His breast and brow supported on a page Character'd over with a praise of fame,—

Of its divineness and beatitude

Words which had often caused that heart to throb,
That cheek to burn; though silent lay they, now,—
Without a single beating in the pulse,
And all the fever gone!

I saw a bay
Spring, verdant, from a newly-fashion'd grave:
The grass upon the grave was verdanter,—
That being water'd by the eyes of One
Who bore not to look up toward the tree!
Others look'd on it—some, with passing glance,
Because the light wind stirred in its leaves;
And some, with sudden lighting of the soul,
In admiration's ecstasy!-ay! some
Did wag their heads like oracles, and say,
"'Tis very well!" But none rememberéd
The heart which housed the root-except that One
Whose sight was lost in weeping!

Is it thus,

Ambition!-idol of the intellect?
Shall we drink aconite, alone to use
Thy golden bowl-and sleep ourselves to death,
To dream thy visions about life? Oh, power!
That art a very feebleness!-before
Thy clayey feet we bend our knees of clay,—
And round thy senseless brow bind diadems,
With paralytic hands,-and shout " A god!”
With voices mortal-hoarse! Who can discern
Th' infirmities they share in? Being blind,
We cannot see thy blindness :-being weak,
We cannot feel thy weakness:-being low,
We cannot mete thy baseness:-being unwise,
We cannot understand thine idiocy!

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SLEEP on, baby on the floor,

Tired of all the playing-
Sleep with smile the sweeter for
That you dropp'd away in ;

On your curls' fair roundness stand
Golden lights serenely-
One cheek, push'd out by the hand,
Folds the dimple inly.
Little head and little foot
Heavy laid for pleasure,
Underneath the lids half-shut
Slants the shining azure-
Open-soul'd in noonday sun,
So, you lie and slumber;
Nothing evil having done,
Nothing can encumber.

I, who cannot sleep as well,
Shall I sigh to view you?
Or sigh further to foretell

All that may undo you?
Nay, keep smiling, little child,
Ere the fate appeareth!
I smile, too! for patience mild
Pleasure's token weareth.
Nay, keep sleeping before loss!
I shall sleep, though losing!
As by cradle, so by cross,
Sweet is the reposing.

And God knows, who sees us twain,
Child at childish leisure,

I am all as tired of pain

As you are of pleasure.
Very soon, too, by His grace
Gently wrapt around me,
I shall show as calm a face,
I shall sleep as soundly!
Differing in this, that you

Clasp your playthings sleeping, While my hand must drop the few Given to my keeping

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Nay, if you look'd down upon them,
And if they look'd up to you,
All the light which had forgone them
They would gather back anew!
They would be,
Verily,

Love-transform'd to beauty's sheen, "Sweetest eyes were ever seen!"

Still no step! The fountain's warble
In the courtyard sounds alone:
As the water to the marble,
So my heart falls with a moan
From love-sighing
To this dying!

Love resigns to death, I ween,
"Sweetest eyes were ever seen!"

Will you come, when I'm departed
Where all sweetnesses are hid-
Where your voice, my tender-hearted,
Will not lift up either lid-
Cry, O lover!

Love is over:

Cry beneath the cypress green,
"Sweetest eyes were ever seen!"

When the "Angelus" is ringing,

Past the convent will you go, And remember the soft singing Which we heard there long ago? I walk'd onward,

Looking downward,

Till you cried, "What do you mean, Sweetest eyes were ever seen ?"

At the tryst-place by the river,

Will you sit upon our stone, And think how we said "for ever," And weep sore to be alone?

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Water-lily,
Sweet and stilly"—

Said I-"Ay," you murmur'd then,'
"Sweetest eyes were ever seen!"

Underneath the palace lattice,

Will you ride as you have done!
If a face flash out there, that is
Not the true, familiar one;
For oh, truly,

(Think it duly!) There have watch'd you, morn and e'en, "Sweetest eyes were ever seen."

When the palace ladies, sitting

Round your gittern, shall have said"Sing the lovely stanzas written For that lady who is dead”Will you, trying, Break off, sighing,

Or sing-dropping tears between"Sweetest eyes were ever seen?"

"Sweetest eyes!" How sweet, in flowings Of all tune, the burden is!

Though you sang a hundred poems,
Still the best one would be this.

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