are strung;

But there are moments which he calls his own.

Then, never less alone than when alone,

Those whom he loved so long and sees no more,

Loved and still loves,- not dead,— but gone before,

He gathers round him; and revives at will

Scenes in his life,- that breathe enchantment still,

That come not now at dreary intervals,

But where a light as from the blessed falls,

A light such guests bring ever,―pure and holy,

Lapping the soul in sweetest melancholy!

the prize,

[energies

choice condemn)

words are wise;

His a delight how pure

out alloy;

Strong in their strength, rejoicing in their joy! [repay Now in their turn assisting, they The anxious cares of many and many a day;

And now by those he loves relieved, restored,

His very wants and weaknesses afford A feeling of enjoyment. In his walks, Leaning on them, how oft he stops and talks,

While they look up! Their questions, their replies,

Fresh as the welling waters, round him rise, Gladdening his spirit; and, his theme the past,

How eloquent he is! His thoughts flow fast;

And, while his heart (oh, can the

heart grow old?

False are the tales that in the world are told!)

Swells in his voice, he knows not where to end;

Like one discoursing of an absent friend.

them!

[From The Pleasures of Memory.]
MEMORY.

THOU first, best friend that heaven assigns below

To soothe and sweeten all the cares we know;

Whose glad suggestions still each vain alarm,

When nature fades and life forgets to charm;

Thee would the Muse invoke! - to thee belong

The sage's precept and the poet's song.

What softened views thy magic glass reveals,

When o'er the landscape time's meek twilight steals!

As when in ocean sinks the orb of day,

Long on the wave reflected lustres play;

Thy tempered gleams of happiness resigned

Glance on the darkened mirror of the mind.

DOES the road wind up-hill all the way ?

Yes, to the very end.

But is there for the night a restingplace?

A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.

long day?

From morn to night, my friend.

face?

You cannot miss that inn.

I wonder if the springtide of this year

Will bring another spring both lost and dear;

If heart and spirit will find out their spring,

Or if the world alone will bud and sing:

Sing, hope, to me;

Sweet notes, my hope, soft notes for memory.

The sap will surely quicken soon or late,

The tardiest bird will twitter to a mate;

So spring must dawn again with warmth and bloom,

Or in this world, or in the world to

come:

Sing, voice of spring, Till I too blossom, and rejoice and sing.

SONG.

WHEN I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.

I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on, as if in pain:

And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.

SOUND SLEEP.

SOME are laughing, some are weeping;

She is sleeping, only sleeping.

Sing, robin, sing;

spring.

creeping;

There the wind is heaping, heaping, Sweetest sweets of summer's keeping, By the cornfields ripe for reaping.

There are lilies, and there blushes
The deep rose, and there the thrushes
Sing till latest sunlight flushes
In the west; a fresh wind brushes
Through the leaves while evening
hushes.

There by day the lark is singing

AT HOME.

ing;

There by night the bat is winging; There for ever winds are bringing Far-off chimes of church-bells ringing.

Night and morning, noon and even,
Their sound fills her dreams with
Heaven:

The long strife at length is striven:
Till her grave-bands shall be riven,
Such is the good portion given
To her soul at rest and shriven.

Το seek the much-frequented

house;

Said one: 66 Before the turn of tide
We will achieve the eyrie-seat."
Said one: 66
To-morrow shall be like
To-day, but much more sweet."

"To-morrow," said they, strong with hope,

66

And dwelt upon the pleasant way:
To-morrow," cried they one and all,
While no one spoke of yesterday.
Their life stood full at blessed noon;
I, only I, had passed away:
"To-morrow and to-day" they cried
I was of yesterday.

I shivered comfortless, but cast
No chill across the tablecloth;
I all-forgotten shivered, sad

To stay, and yet to part how loth:
I passed from the familiar room,
I who from love had passed away,
Like the remembrance of a guest
That tarrieth but a day.

THE SEA-LIMITS.

CONSIDER the sea's listless chime: Time's self it is, made audible, The murmur of the earth's own shell,

Secret continuance sublime

Is the era's end. Our sight may pass

No furlong farther.

was,

Since time

Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem,
No wrought flowers did adorn,
But a white rose of Mary's gift,
IIer hair that lay along her back
For service meetly worn;
Was yellow like ripe corn.

Herseemed she scarce had been a day

One of God's choristers;

time.

From that still look of hers: Albeit, to them she left, her day Had counted as ten years.

It was the rampart of God's house
That she was standing on;

By God built over the sheer depth
The which is Space begun;

So high, that looking downward thence

She scarce could see the sun.

It lies in heaven, across the flood
Of ether, as a bridge.

Beneath, the tides of day and night
With flame and darkness ridge
The void, as low as where this earth
Spins like a fretful midge.

Around her, lovers, newly met

'Mid deathless love's acclaims Spoke evermore among themselves

Their heart-remembered names; And the souls mounting up to God Went by her like thin flames;

And still she bowed herself and stooped

Out of the circling charm; Until her bosom must have made The bar she leaned on warm, And the lilies lay as if asleep Along her bended arm.

From the fixed place of heaven she

saw

Time like a pulse shake fierce Through all the worlds. Her gaze still strove

Within the gulf to pierce