IV. Had he kith now or kin, were access Just a son or a mother to seize ! No such booty as these. Were it simply a friend to pursue 'Mid my million or two, Who could pay me, in person or pelf, What he owes me himself! No: I could not but smile through my chafe : For the fellow lay safe As his mates do, the midge and the nit, -Through minuteness, to wit. V. Then a humour more great took its place At the thought of his face : The droop, the low cares of the mouth, The trouble uncouth 'Twixt the brows, all that air one is fain To put out of its pain. And, "no!" I admonished myself, "Is one mocked by an elf, "Is one baffled by toad or by rat? "The gravamen 's in that! "How the lion, who crouches to suit "His back to my foot, "Would admire that I stand in debate! "But the small turns the great "If it vexes you,—that is the thing! "Toad or rat vex the king? "Though I waste half my realm to unearth "Toad or rat, 't is well worth!" VI. So, I soberly laid my last plan To extinguish the man. Round his creep-hole, with never a break Ran my fires for his sake; Over-head, did my thunder combine With my under-ground mine: Till I looked from my labour content VII. When sudden. Did I how think ye, the end ? say "without friend?" Say rather from marge to blue marge The whole sky grew his targe With the sun's self for visible boss, While an Arm ran across Which the earth heaved beneath like a breast Where the wretch was safe prest! Do you see! Just my vengeance complete, The man sprang to his feet, Stood erect, caught at God's skirts, and prayed! -So, I was afraid! "Instans Tyrannus," the present tyrant, the tyrant for the time only, whose apparently illimitable power to hurt shrivels into nothing in presence of the King of kings, whose dominion is everlasting. The poor victim of this tyrant's oppression is a true child of God, but the nobility of his inner life is of course concealed from the proud wretch who despises him, and who, it must be remembered, is the speaker throughout. We must be careful, therefore, to estimate at their proper worth the epithets he applies and the motives he attributes to the object of his hate. He can, · of course, think of no other reason why his victim "would not moan, would not curse," than that, if he did, his lot might be worse." And again, when temptation failed to shake his steadfast patience, the tyrant is quite consistent with himself, as one of those who call evil good, and good evil, in speaking of him as still keeping "to his filth." The last stanza is magnificent. Has the power of prayer ever been set forth in nobler language? C THE LOST LEADER. I. JUST for a handful of silver he left us, How all our copper had gone for his service! Rags were they purple, his heart had been proud! We that had loved him so, followed him, honoured him, Lived in his mild and magnificent eye, Learned his great language, caught his clear accents, Made him our pattern to live and to die! Shakespeare was of us, Milton was for us, graves! they watch from their He alone breaks from the van and the freemen, He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves! II. We shall march prospering,—not thro' his presence ; One more wrong to man, one more insult to God! Life's night begins : let him never come back to us! Forced praise on our part-the glimmer of twilight, Best fight on well, for we taught him-strike gallantly, Then let him receive the new knowledge and wait us, "The Lost Leader" is supposed to be the poet Wordsworth, who, on accepting the laureateship, abandoned the party of distinguished literary men who had enthusiastically supported the principles of the French Revolution. It is necessary, of course, to enter into the lofty enthusiasm of that party, and for the moment to identify ourselves with it, in order to appreciate the wonderful power and pathos of this exquisite poem. (See Wordsworth's 'French Revolution as it appeared to enthusiasts at its commencement.") " The contrasts are very powerful between the one (paltry) gift he gained, and all the others (love, loyalty, life, &c.) they were privileged to devote (far richer than mere possession); and again, between the niggardliness of his new patrons with their dole of silver, contrasted with the enthusiastic devotion of his own followers, who having nothing but " copper," would yet put it all at his service—having nothing but "rags," were yet so liberal with what they had, that had they been purple, he would have been proud indeed, seeing that "a riband to stick in his coat had proved so great an attraction. In the second stanza the fountains of the great deep of human feeling are broken up. "Life's night begins' suggests at once the strength of the previous attachment, and the hopelessness of the broken tie being ever knit again on earth. The best thing is to be counted enemies now, and fight against each other as gallantly as they would have fought together. At the same time there is absolute confidence in the ultimate triumph of the party of freedom-he may menace our hearts," but we shall "master his "-and in the ultimate recovery of the lost leader himself, whom he hopes to find "pardoned in heaven, the first by the throne." " LOVE AMONG THE RUINS. I. WHERE the quiet coloured end of evening smiles, On the solitary pastures where our sheep Half-asleep Tinkle homeward thro' the twilight, stray or stop Was the site once of a city great and gay, (So they say) Of our country's very capital, its prince, Ages since, Held his court in, gathered councils, wielding far II. Now, the country does not even boast a tree, As you see, To distinguish slopes of verdure, certain rills From the hills Intersect and give a name to, (else they run Into one) Where the domed and daring palace shot its spires O'er the hundred-gated circuit of a wall Bounding all, Made of marble, men might march on nor be pressed Twelve abreast. |