The world's poor, routed leavings? To cheer thee, and to right thee if or will they, thou roam Who fail'd under the heat of this Not with lost toil thou laborest life's day, through the night! Support the fervors of the heavenly Thou mak'st the heaven thou hop'st indeed thy home. morn? "And with joy the stars perform In their own tasks all their powers their shining, pouring, These attain the mighty life you see." O air-born voice! long since, severely A cry like thine in mine own heart "Resolve to be thyself; and know, Who finds himself, loses his misery!" PHILIP JAMES BAILEY. THE TRUE MEASURE OF LIFE. WE live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breath; We should count time by heart-throbs when they beat the rose, And maid, whose cheek outblooms The ends of ravell'd skein to catch, But lets thee have thy wayward wil Perplexing oft her sober skill. As bright the blazing fagot glows, Who, bending to the friendly light Plies her task with busy sleight; Come, show thy tricks and sportive graces, Thus circled round with merry faces. Backward coil'd, and crouching low, With glaring eyeballs watch thy foe, The housewife's spindle whirling round, Or thread, or straw, that on the ground Its shadow throws, by urchin sly Thy bo-peep tail provokes thee still, Erected stiff, and gait awry, Like madam in her tantrums high: Though ne'er a madam of them all, Whose silken kirtle sweeps the hall More varied trick and whim displays, To catch the admiring stranger's gaze. But not alone by cottage fire The widest range of human lore, Chide not her mirth who was sad yesterday, Nor chides thee on thy wicked watch | And may be so to-morrow.) |