And feeling hearts,- touch them but rightly,- pour But there are moments which he calls his own. A thousand melodies unheard before! Then, never less alone than when Then happiest, youngest, when the quoit is flung, When side by side the archers' bows are strung; His to prescribe the place, adjudge the prize, [energies 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! —Ah, then less willing (nor the choice condemn) Envying no more the young their To live with others than to think of Than they an old man when his words are wise; His a delight how pure .. with out alloy; them! [From The Pleasures of 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. Shall I meet other wayfarers at night? They will not keep you standing at the door. Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak? Of labor you shall find the sum. Will there be beds for me and all who seek? Yea, beds for all who come. REMEMBER. REMEMBER me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand, Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay. Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you planned; Only remember me; you under stand [pray. It will be late to counsel then or Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember, do not For if the darkness and corruption I had, 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, I shall not see the shadows, I shall not hear the nightingale And dreaming through the twilight SOUND SLEEP. SOME are laughing, some are weeping; She is sleeping, only sleeping. I still am sore in doubt concerning Round her rest wild flowers are There by day the lark is singing AT HOME. And the grass and weeds are spring- WHEN I was dead, my spirit turned ing; There by night the bat is winging; There for ever winds are bringing Far-off chimes of church-bells ringing. To seek the much-frequented house; I passed the door, and saw my friends Feasting beneath green orange boughs; From hand to hand they pushed the wine, They sucked the pulp of plum and peach; They sang, they jested, and they laughed, For each was loved of each. I listened to their honest chat: Said one: "To-morrow we shall be Plod plod along the featureless sands, And coasting miles and miles of sea." Said one: "Before the turn of tide We will achieve the eyrie-seat.' Said one: "To-morrow shall be like To-day, but much more sweet." "To-morrow," said they, strong with hope, 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 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. DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI. 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. Since time was, Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem, Her hair that lay along her back Herseemed she scarce had been a day One of God's choristers; This sound hath told the lapse of The wonder was not yet quite gone From that still look of hers: Albeit, to them she left, her day Had counted as ten years. It lies in heaven, across the flood 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 |