PROSPICE.

FEAR death?-to feel the fog in my throat,

The mist in my face,

When the snows begin, and the blasts denote

I am nearing the place, The power of the night, the press of the storm,

The post of the foe;

Where he stands, the Arch-Fear in a visible form,

Yet the strong man must go; Now the journey is done and the summit attained,

And the barriers fall,

Though a battle 's to fight ere the guerdon be gained,

The reward of it all.
I was ever a fighter, so,-

more,

one fight

Was it wrong to own,

Being truth?

Why should all the giving prove His alone?

I had wealth and ease,

Beauty, youth,

-

Since my lover gave me love,

I gave these.

Give more life and more,

Till, all gone,

Sixteen years old when she died! Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name,

It was not her time to love; beside, Her life had many a hope and aim, Duties enough and little cares;

And now was quiet, now astir, Till God's hand beckoned unawares, And the sweet white brow is all of her.

Is it too late, then, Evelyn Hope? What! your soul was pure and true; The good stars met in your horoscope, Made you of spirit, fire, and dew;

Mine before.

And our paths in the world diverged so wide,

Each was naught to each, must I be told?

We were fellow-mortals, - naught beside ?

And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back

For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track;

And one eye's black intelligence,

ever that glance

O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance;

And the thick heavy spume-flakes, which aye and anon

His fierce lips shook upward in galloping on.

By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, "Stay spur!

Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her;

We'll remember at Aix"-for one heard the quick wheeze

Of her chest, saw the stretched neck, and staggering knees, And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank,

As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank.

So we were left galloping, Joris and I, Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky;

The broad sun above laughed a piti

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And Gallop," gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight!"

"How they'll greet us!"-and all in a moment his roan

Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone;

And there was my Roland to bear

the whole weight

Of the news which alone could save
Aix from her fate,
With his nostrils like pits full of
blood to the brim,

And with circles of red for his eye

sockets' rim.

Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each holster let fall.

Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all,

So soon

in a horror of heart-beats you

"The dead thing will never from my thoughts!"

a few daylight doses of plain life, Cock-crow and sparrow-chirp, or bleat and bell

Of goats that trot by, tinkling to be milked;

And when you rub your eyes awake and wide,

Where is the harm o' the horror? Gone!

Nor bright and envied, nor obscure and scorned,

Nor so young that their pleasures fell too thick,

Nor old past catching pleasure when it fell,

Nothing above, below the just degree, All at the mean where joy's components mix.

So again, in the couple's very souls You saw the adequate half with half to match,

Each having and each lacking somewhat, both

Making a whole that had all and lacked naught;

The round and sound, in whose composure just

The acquiescent and recipient side Was Pietro's, and the stirring striving one

Violante's: both in union gave the due Quietude, enterprise, craving and

content,

Which go to bodily health and peace

of mind.

But, as 'tis said a body, rightly mixed,

Each element in equipoise, would last