Years ago.

make way,

The fields fall southward, abrupt and broken,

Heart handfast in heart as they stood, To the low last edge of the long lone “ Look thither," land.

Did he whisper?

“ Look forth from the If a step should sound or a word be

flowers to the sea ; spoken,

For the foam-flowers endure when the roseWould a ghost not rise at the strange

blossoms wither, guest's hand ?

And men that love lightly may die So long have the gray, bare walks lain

but we?” guestless,

And the same wind sang and the same Through branches and briers if a man waves whiten'd,

And or ever the garden's last petals He shall find no life but the sea-wind's,

were shed, restless

In the lips that had whisper'd, the eyes Night and day.

that had lighten'd,

Love was dead. The dense, hard passage is blind and stified That crawls by a track none turn to Or they lov'd their life through, and then climb

went whither ? To the strait waste place that the years And were one to the end – but what end have rifled

who knows ? Of all but the thorns that are touch'd Love deep as the sea as a rose must wither, not of Time.

As the rose-red seaweed that mocks the The thorns he spares when the rose is taken ;

Shall the dead take thought for the dead The rocks are left when he wastes the

to love them ? plain.

What love was ever as deep as a grave ? The wind that wanders, the weeds wind- They are loveless now as the grass above shaken,

them These remain.

Or the wave.

rose.

All are at one now, roses and lovers,

Thou kpowest that here the likeness of the Not known of the cliffs and the fields

best and the sea.

Before thee stands : Not a breath of the time that has been The head most high, the heart found faithhovers

fulest, In the air now soft with a summer to

The purest hands. be. Not a breath shall there sweeten the seasons Above the fume and foam of time that hereafter

flits, Of the flowers or the lovers that laugh

The soul, we know, now or weep,

Now sits on high where Alighieri sits
When, as they that are free now of weeping

With Angelo.
and laughter,
We shall sleep.

Nor his own heavenly tongue hath hea

venly speech Here death may deal not again forever;

Enough to say Here change may come not till all change What this man was, whose praise no end.

thought may reach, From the graves they have made they shall

No words can weigh. rise up never, Who have left nought living to ravage

Since man's first mother brought to mortal and rend.

birth Earth, stones, and thorns of the wild

Her first-born son, ground growing,

Such grace befell not ever man on earth While the sun and the rain live, these

As crowns this One. shall be ; Till a last wind's breath upon all these Of God nor man was ever this thing said : blowing

That he could give
Roll the sea.

Life back to her who gave him, that his

dead Till the slow sea rise and the sheer cliff

Mother might live. crumble, Till terrace and meadow the deep gulfs But this man found his mother dead and drink,

slain, Till the strength of the waves of the high

With fast-seal'd eyes, tides humble

And bade the dead rise up and live again, The fields that lessen, the rocks that

And she did rise : shrink, Here now in his triumph where all things And all the world was bright with her falter,

through him : Stretch'd out on the spoils that his own

But dark with strife, hand spread,

Like heaven's own sun that storming clouds As a god self-slain on his own strange

bedim,
altar,

Was all his life.
Death lies dead.

Life and the clouds are vanish'd ; hate and

fear ON THE MONUMENT ERECTED

Have had their span
TO MAZZINI AT GENOA

Of time to hurt and are not : He is here

The sunlike man.
ITALIA, mother of the souls of men,
Mother divine,

City superb, that hadst Columbus first Of all that serv'd thee best with sword or

For sovereign son, pen,

Be prouder that thy breast hath later nurst All sons of thine,

This mightier One.

Glory be his forever, while this land

Lives and is free,
As with controlling breath and sovereign

hand
He bade her be.

Earth shows to heaven the names by thou

sands told

That crown her fame :
But highest of all that heaven and earth

behold
Mazzini's name.

John Papne
CADENCES

We shall see the roses blowing in the

green, I

The pink-lipp'd roses kissing in the golden (MINOR)

summer sheen ;

We shall see the fields flower thick with The ancient memories buried lie,

stars and bells of summer gold, And the olden fancies pass ;

And the poppies burn out red and sweet The old sweet flower-thoughts wither and

across the corn-crown'd wold. fly, And die as the April cowslips die,

The time shall be for pleasure, not for That scatter the bloomy grass.

pain;

There shall come no ghost of grieving for All dead, my dear! And the flowers are the past betwixt us twain ; dead, But in the time of roses our lives shall

grow And the happy blossoming spring;

together, The winter comes with its iron tread, And our love be as the love of gods in the The fields with the dying sun are red,

blue Olympic weather. And the birds have ceas'd to sing. I trace the steps on the wasted strand

SIBYL Of the vanish'd springtime's feet: Wither'd and dead is our Fairyland, This is the glamour of the world antique : For Love and Death go hand in hand The thyme-scents of Hymettus fill the air, Go hand in hand, my sweet !

And in the grass narcissus-cups are fair.

The full brook wanders through the ferns II

to seek

The amber haunts of bees; and on the (MAJOR)

peak Oh, what shall be the burden of our Of the soft hill, against the gold-marged rhyme,

sky, And what shall be our ditty when the blos- She stands, a dream from out the days gone som 's on the lime ?

by. Our lips have fed on winter and on weari- Entreat her not. Indeed, she will not ness too long :

speak! We will hail the royal summer with a Her eyes are full of dreams ; and in her golden-footed song!

There is the rustle of immortal wings; O lady of my summer and my spring, And ever and anon the slow breeze bears We shall hear the blackbird whistle and The mystic murmur of the songs

she the brown sweet tbrostle sing,

sings. And the low clear noise of waters running Entreat her not : she sees thee not, nor softly by our feet,

hears When the sights and sounds of summer in Aught but the sights and sounds of bygone the green clear fields are sweet.

springs.

ears