THE hungry flame hath never yet been hot
To him who won his name and crown of fire;
But it doth ask a stronger soul and higher
To bear, not longing for a prouder lot,
Those martyrdoms whereof the world knows not,—
Hope sneaped with frosty scorn, the faith of youth
Wasted in seeming vain defence of Truth,
Greatness o'ertopp'd with baseness, and fame got
Too late-Yet this most bitter task was meant
For those right worthy in such cause to plead,
And therefore God sent poets, men content
To live in humbleness and body's need,
If they may tread the path where Jesus went,
And sow one grain of Love's eternal seed.

III.

I ASK not for those thoughts, that sudden leap
From being's sea, like the isle-seeming Kraken,
With whose great rise the ocean all is shaken
And a heart-tremble quivers through the deep;
Give me that growth which some perchance deem
Wherewith the steadfast coral-stems uprise, [sleep,
Which, by the toil of gathering energies,
Their upward way into clear sunshine keep,
Until, by Heaven's sweetest influences,
Slowly and slowly spreads a speck of green
Into a pleasant island in the seas,
Where, mid tall palms, the cane-roof'd home is seen,
And wearied men shall sit at sunset's hour,
Hearing the leaves and loving God's dear power.

MAIDEN, when such a soul as thine is born,
The morning-stars their ancient music make,
And, joyful, once again their song awake,
Long silent now with melancholy scorn;
And thou, not mindless of so blest a morn,
By no least deed its harmony shalt break,
But shalt to that high chime thy footsteps take,
Through life's most darksome passes, unforlorn;
Therefore from thy pure faith thou shalt not fall,
Therefore shalt thou be ever fair and free,
And, in thine every motion, musical
As summer air, majestic as the sea,
A mystery to those who creep and craw!
Through Time, and part it from Eternity.

My Love, I have no fear that thou shouldst die;
Albeit I ask no fairer life than this,
Whose numbering-clock is still thy gentle kiss.
While Time and Peace with hands enlocked fly,-
Yet care I not where in Eternity

We live and love, well knowing that there is
No backward step for those who feel the bliss
Of Faith as their most lofty yearnings high:
Love hath so purified my heart's strong core,
Meseems I scarcely should be startled, even,
To find, some morn, that thou hadst gone before;
Since, with thy love, this knowledge too was given,
Which each calm day doth strengthen more and
more,

That they who love are but one step from Heaven.

IV. TO THE SPIRIT OF KEATS.

GREAT Soul thou sittest with me in my room,
Uplifting me with thy vast, quiet eyes,
On whose full orbs, with kindly lustre, lies
The twilight warmth of ruddy ember-gloom:
Thy clear, strong tones will oft bring sudden bloom
Of hope secure, to him who lonely cries,
Wrestling with the young poet's agonies,
Neglect and scorn, which seem a certain doom;
Yes! the few words which, like great thunder-drops,
Thy large heart down to earth shook doubtfully,
Thrill'd by the inward lightning of its might,
Serene and pure, like gushing joy of light,
Shall track the eternal chords of Destiny,
After the moon-led pulse of occan stops.

OUR love is not a fading, earthly flower;
Its wing'd seed dropp'd down from Paradise,
And, nursed by day and night, by sun and shower,
Doth momently to fresher beauty rise:

To us the leafless autumn is not bare,
Nor winter's rattling boughs lack lusty green,

Our summer hearts make summer's fulness, where
No leaf, or bud, or blossom may be seen:
For nature's life in love's deep life doth lie,
Love, whose forgetfulness is beauty's death,
Whose mystic keys these cells of Thou and I
Into the infinite freedom openeth,

And makes the body's dark and narrow grate
The wide-flung leaves of Heaven's palace-gate.

to walks with Form's observances unhamper'd,

And follows the One Will obediently; rose eyes, like windows on a breezy summit, Control a lovely prospect every way; -ho doth not sound God's sea with earthly plummet,

And find a bottom still of worthless clay;
ho heeds not how the lower gusts are working,
Knowing that one sure wind blows on above,
ad sees, beneath the foulest faces lurking,
One God-built shrine of reverence and love;
ho sees all stars that wheel their shining marches
Around the centre fix'd of Destiny,
'here the encircling soul serene o'erarches

The moving globe of being, like a sky; [nearer
Tho feels that God and Heaven's great deeps are
Him to whose heart his fellow-man is nigh,
ho doth not hold his soul's own freedom dearer
Than that of all his brethren, low or high;
Who to the right can feel himself the truer
For being gently patient with the wrong,
Who sees a brother in the evildoer,

And finds in Love the heart's blood of his song;-
This, this is he for whom the world is waiting
To sing the beatings of its mighty heart,
Too long hath it been patient with the grating
Of scrannel-pipes, and heard it misnamed Art.
To him the smiling soul of man shall listen,
Laying awhile its crown of thorns aside,
And once again in every eye shall glisten
The glory of a nature satisfied.

His verse shall have a great, commanding motion,
Heaving and swelling with a melody
Learnt of the sky, the river, and the ocean,
And all the pure, majestic things that be.
Awake, then, thou! we pine for thy great presence
To make us feel the soul once more sublime,
We are of far too infinite an essence

To rest contented with the lies of Time.
Speak out! and, lo! a hush of deepest wonder
Shall sink o'er all his many-voiced scene,
As when a sudden burst of rattling thunder
Shatters the blueness of a sky serene.

EXTRACT FROM A LEGEND OF BRIT-
TANY.

THEN Swell'd the organ: up through choir and nave
The music trembled with an inward thrill
Of bliss at its own grandeur: wave on wave
Its flood of mellow thunder rose, until
The hush'd air shiver'd with the throb it gave,
Then, poising for a moment, it stood still,
And sank and rose again, to burst in spray
That wander'd into silence far away.
Like to a mighty heart the music seem'd,
That yearns with melodies it cannot speak,
Until, in grand despair of what it dream'd,
In the agony of effort it doth break,
Yet triumphs breaking; on it rush'd and stream'd
And wanton'd in its might, as when a lake,
Long pent among the mountains, bursts its walls
And in one crowding gush leaps forth and falls.

Deeper and deeper shudders shook the air,
As the huge bass kept gathering heavily,
Like thunder when it rouses in its lair,
And with its hoarse growl shakes the low-hung
It grew up like a darkness everywhere, [sky:
Filling the vast cathedral;-suddenly,
From the dense mass a boy's clear treble broke
Like lightning, and the full-toned choir awoke.
Through gorgeous windows shone the sun aslant,
Brimming the church with gold and purple mist,
Meet atmosphere to bosom that rich chant,

Where fifty voices in one strand did twist
Their varicolour'd tones, and left no want

To the delighted soul, which sank abyss'd
In the warm music-cloud, while, far below,
The organ heaved its surges to and fro.
As if a lark should suddenly drop dead

While the blue air yet trembled with its song, So snapped at once that music's golden thread, Struck by a nameless fear that leapt along From heart to heart, and like a shadow spread

With instantaneous shiver through the throng, So that some glanced behind, as half aware A hideous shape of dread were standing there. As, when a crowd of pale men gather round,

Watching an eddy in the leaden deep, From which they deem'd the body of one drown'd Will be cast forth, from face to face doth creep An cager dread that holds all tongues fast bound, Until the horror, with a ghastly leap, Starts up, its dead blue arms stretch'd aimlessly, Heaved with the swinging of the careless sea,—

So in the faces of all these there grew,

As by one impulse, a dark, freezing awe, Which with a fearful fascination drew

All eyes toward the altar; damp and raw The air grew suddenly, and no man knew

Whether perchance his silent neighbour saw The dreadful thing, which all were sure would rise To scare the strained lids wider from their eyes. The incense trembled as it upward sent

Its slow, uncertain thread of wandering blue, As 't were the only living element

In all the church, so deep the stillness grew; It seem'd one might have heard it, as it went, Give out an audible rustle, curling through The midnight silence of that awe-struck air, More hush'd than death, though so much life was there.

THE SYRENS.

THE sea is lonely, the sea is dreary,
The sea is restless and uneasy;
Thou seekest quiet, thou art weary,
Wandering thou knowest not whither;-
Our little isle is green and breezy,
Come and rest thee! O come hither!
Come to this peaceful home of ours,
Where evermore

The low west-wind creeps panting up the shore
To be at rest among the flowers:

Full of rest, the green moss lifts,

As the dark waves of the sea Draw in and out of rocky rifts, Calling solemnly to thee With voices deep and hollow,"To the shore

Follow! O follow!

To be at rest for evermore!
For evermore!

Look how the gray, old Ocean From the depth of his heart rejoices, Heaving with a gentle motion, When he hears our restful voices; List how he sings in an undertone, Chiming with our melody;

And all sweet sounds of earth and air
Melt into one low voice alone,
That murmurs over the weary sea,-
And seems to sing from everywhere,-
"Here mayest thou harbour peacefully,
Here mayest thou rest from the aching oar;
Turn thy curved prow ashore,

And in our green isle rest for evermore!
For evermore!"

And Echo half wakes in the wooded hill,
And, to her heart so calm and deep,
Murmurs over in her sleep,
Doubtfully pausing and murmuring still,
"Evermore !"

Is

Thus, on Life's weary sea,
Heareth the marinere

Voices sweet, from far and near,

Ever singing low and clear,
Ever singing longingly.

not better here to be,
Than to be toiling late and soon?
In the dreary night to see
Nothing but the blood-red moon
Go up and down into the sea;
Or, in the loneliness of day,

To see the still seals only
Solemnly lift their faces gray,
Making it yet more lonely?
Is it not better, than to hear
Only the sliding of the wave
Beneath the plank, and feel so near
A cold and lonely grave,

A restless grave, where thou shalt lie
Even in death unquietly?

Look down beneath thy wave-worn bark,
Lean over the side and see

The leaden eye of the side-long shark
Upturned patiently,

Ever waiting there for thee:

Look down and see those shapeless forms,
Which ever keep their dreamless sleep
Far down within the gloomy deep,
And only stir themselves in storms,
Rising like islands from beneath,
And snorting through the angry spray,
As the frail vessel perisheth

In the whirls of their unwieldy play:
Look down! Look down!
Upon the seaweed, slimy and dark,

That waves its arms so lank and brown,
Beckoning for thee!

Look down beneath thy wave-worn bark
Into the cold depth of the sea!
Look down! Look down!

Thus, on Life's lonely sea,
Heareth the marinere
Voices sad, from far and near,

Ever singing full of fear,
Ever singing drearfully.

Here all is pleasant as a dream;
The wind scarce shaketh down the dew,
The green grass floweth like a stream
Into the ocean's blue:
Listen! O listen!
Here is a gush of many streams,

A song of many birds,

And every wish and longing seems
Lull'd to a number'd flow of words,-
Listen! O listen!

Here ever hum the golden bees
Underneath full-blossom'd trees,

At once with glowing fruit and flowers crown'd;-
The sand is so smooth, the yellow sand,
That thy keel will not grate, as it touches the land
All around, with a slumberous sound,
The singing waves slide up the strand,
And there, where the smooth, wet pebbles be,
The waters gurgle longingly,

As if they fain would seek the shore,
To be at rest from the ceaseless roar,
To be at rest for evermore,-
For evermore.

Thus, on Life's gloomy sea,
Heareth the marinere

Voices sweet, from far and near,

Ever singing in his ear,

"Here is rest and peace for thee!"