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I could not know the message that he | I HEAR the bells at eventide bore,
Peal slowly one by one, The springs of life from me
Near and far off they break and glide, Hidden; his incommunicable lore
Across the stream float faintly beautiAs much a mystery.
The antiphonal bells of Hull;
The day is done.
The dew has gathered in the flowers And there was solitude.
Like tears from some unconscious deep, The swallows whirl around the towers,
The light runs out beyond the long LIFE AND DEATH
And leaves the single stars ;
'T is time for sleep.
The hermit thrush begins again, The semblance of his huge and gloomy Timorous eremite, might.
That song of risen tears and pain,
As if the one he loved was far away : But firm beneath the sea went the great
“ Alas ! another day earth,
And now Good Night, Good Night,” With sober bulk and adamantine hold,
SONNETS FROM “A LOVER'S
And in that world illumined Seraphim
Man more than all men, Thou wast glad to
bless A woman's sacrifice and tenderness.
Her words came to me like a summer
song, Blown from the throat of some sweet night
ingale ; I stand within her light the whole day
long, And think upon her till the white stars I lift my head towards all that makes life
wise, And see no farther than my lady's eyes.
Art's use ; what is it but to touch the
springs Of nature ? But to hold a torch up for Humanity in Life's large corridor, To guide the feet of peasants and of
kings! What is it but to carry union through Thoughts alien to thoughts kindred, and to
merge The lines of color that should not diverge, And give the sun a window to shine through! What is it but to make the world have
heed For what its dull eyes else would hardly
scan ! To draw in a stark light a shameless
deed, And show the fashion of a kingly man! To cherish honor, and to smite all shame, To lend hearts voices, and give thoughts a name!
II But wherein shall art work? Shall beauty
lead It captive, and set kisses on its mouth? Shall it be strained unto the breast of
youth, And in a garden live where grows no
weed? Shall it, in dalliance with the flaunting
world, Play but soft airs, sing but sweet-tempered Veer lightly from the stress of all great
wrongs, And lisp of peace 'mid battle-flags un
furled ? Shall it but pluck the sleeve of wanton
ness, And gently chide the folly of our time ? But wave its golden wand at sin's duress,
“ Ab me ! ah me!” to fallow
crime ? Nay; Art serves Truth, and Truth, with
A woman's hand. Lo, I am thankful no That with its touch I have walked all my
days; Rising from fateful and forbidden ways, To find a woman's hand upon my brow, Soft as a pad of rose-leaves, and as pure As upraised palms of angels, seen in
dreams : And soothed by it, to stand as it beseems A man who strives to conquer and endure. A woman's hand I - There is no better
thing Of all things human ; it is half divine ; It hath been more to this lame life of
mine, When faith was weakness, and despair was
Why, let them rail ! God's full anointed
Have heard the world exclaim, “ We know
you not !”
They who by their soul's travailing have
the earth, And whelming those who railed about his Men's moods disturb not those born truly
great : They know their end ; they can afford to
As to an actor's ; and the curtain down,
hands again; No words. But as the proud wind fills the
E. Pauline Johnson
THE SONG MY PADDLE SINGS | August is laughing across the sky,
Laughing while paddle, canoe and I
On either side of the current swift.
My paddle is plying its way ahead,
When the waters flip
And oh, the river runs swifter now;
How the ripples curl
In many a dangerous pool awhirl ! Sleep, sleep!
And far to forward the rapids roar, By your mountains steep,
Fretting their margin for evermore ; Or down where the prairie grasses sweep,
Dash, dash, Now fold in slumber your laggard wings, With a mighty crash, For soft is the song my paddle sings. They seethe and boil and bound and splash.
AT HUSKING TIME At husking time the tassel fades To brown above the yellow blades
Whose rustling sheath enswathes the corn
That bursts its chrysalis in scorn
At husking time.
The prying pilot crow persuades
The sly raccoon with craft inborn
His portion steals, - from plenty's horn His pouch the saucy chipmunk lades
At husking time.
Saw you there as you circled by,
you this on your thieving raids ?
THE VAGABONDS What saw you in your flight to-day, Crows a-winging your homeward way
Hilloo, hilloo, hilloo, hilloo !
Swiftly in single file we go, HILLOo, hilloo, hilloo, hilloo !
The city is soon left far below, Gather, gather, ye men in white ;
Its countless lights like diamonds glow; The winds blow keenly, the moon is bright, And as we climb we hear the chime The sparkling snow lies firm and white; Of church bells stealing o'er the Tie on the shoes, no time to lose, We must be over the hill to-night.