FORESTER. He took the color of his vest NORTHMAN. THE gale that wrecked you on the sand, The storm is my best galley hand FROM ALCUIN. THE sea is the road of the bold, The pit wherein the streams are rolled EXCELSIOR. OVER his head were the maple buds, And over the moon were the starry stubs S. H. WITH beams December planets dart July was in his sunny heart, October in his liberal hand. BORROWING. FROM THE FRENCH. SOME of your hurts you have cured, NATURE. BOON Nature yields each day a brag which we now first behold, And trains us on to slight the new, as if it were the old: But blest is he, who, playing deep, yet haply asks not why, Too busied with the crowded hour to fear to live or die. FATE. HER planted eye to-day controls, HOROSCOPE. ERE he was born, the stars of fate Plotted to make him rich and great: When from the womb the babe was loosed, POWER. CAST the bantling on the rocks, CLIMACTERIC. I AM not wiser for my age, Nor skilful by my grief; Life loiters at the book's first page, Ah! could we turn the leaf. HERI, CRAS, HODIE. SHINES the last age, the next with hope is seen, MEMORY. NIGHT-DREAMS trace on Memory's wall And thy fortunes, as they fall, LOVE. LOVE on his errand bound to go Can swim the flood and wade through snow, Where way is none, 't will creep and wind And eat through Alps its home to find. SACRIFICE. THOUGH love repine, and reason chafe, PERICLES. WELL and wisely said the Greek, CASELLA. TEST of the poet is knowledge of love, SHAKSPEARE. I SEE all human wits Are measured but a few; Unmeasured still my Shakspeare sits, HAFIZ. HER passions the shy violet Love-longings of the raptured bird The bird to him confides. NATURE IN LEASTS. As sings the pine-tree in the wind, ΑΔΑΚΡΥΝ ΝΕΜΟΝΤΑΙ ΑΙΩΝΑ, 'A NEW commandment,' said the smiling Muse, 'I give my darling son, Thou shalt not preach'; Luther, Fox, Behmen, Swedenborg, grew pale, And, on the instant, rosier clouds upbore Hafiz and Shakspeare with their shining choirs. TRANSLATIONS. SONNET OF MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTTI. NEVER did sculptor's dream unfold A form which marble doth not hold In its white block; yet it therein shall find Which still obeys the mind. So hide in thee, thou heavenly dame, The ill I shun, the good I claim; I alas! not well alive, Miss the aim whereto I strive. |