MONADNOC FROM AFAR. DARK flower of Cheshire garden, Thy sombre head with rosy hues Well the Planter knew how strongly THE SOUTH WIND. SUDDEN gusts came full of meaning, I cannot tell rude listeners Half the tell-tale south wind said, "T would bring the blushes of yon maples To a man and to a maid. FAME. Ан Fate, cannot a man Be wise without a beard? East, West, from Beer to Dan, That wisdom might in youth be gotten, He pays too high a price For knowledge and for fame His teeth and bones to buy a name, Were it not better done, To dine and sleep through forty years; Be loved by few; be feared by none; Laugh life away; have wine for tears; And take the mortal leap undaunted, Content that all we asked was granted? But Fate will not permit The seed of gods to die, Nor suffer sense to win from wit Its guerdon in the sky, Nor let us hide, whate'er our pleasure, The world's light underneath a measure. Go then, sad youth, and shine, Go, sacrifice to Fame; 1824. Put youth, joy, health, upon the shrine, WEBSTER. FROM THE PHI BETA KAPPA POEM, 1834. ILL fits the abstemious Muse a crown to weave And yet, if virtue abrogate the law, One portrait, - fact or fancy -we may draw; A form which Nature cast in the heroic mould He, when the rising storm of party roared, He bridged the gulf from th' alway good and wise Self-centred; when he launched the genuine word Ran from his mouth to mountains and the sea, WRITTEN IN A VOLUME OF GOETHE. SIX thankful weeks, and let it be In my coat I bore this book, And seldom therein could I look, Heaven and earth to eat and drink. In his plenty things so rare? THE ENCHANTER. IN the deep heart of man a poet dwells Scent, form and color: to the flowers and shells And crowds a history into a glance; Gives beauty to the lake and fountain, Spies over-sea the fires of the mountain; When thrushes ope their throat, 't is he that sings, 314 PHILOSOPHER.— LIMITS. PHILOSOPHER. PHILOSOPHERS are lined with eyes within, To catch the unconscious heart in the very act His mother died, the only friend he had, Some tears escaped, but his philosophy Couched like a cat sat watching close behind And throttled all his passion. Is't not like That devil-spider that devours her mate Scarce freed from her embraces ? LIMITS. WHо knows this or that? Hark in the wall to the rat: Since the world was, he has gnawed; Of his wisdom, of his fraud What dost thou know? In the wretched little beast Is life and heart, Child and parent, Not without relation To fruitful field and sun and moon. |