HY do I sing? I know not why, my friend;
The ancient rivers, rivers of renown,
A royal largess to the sea roll down,
And on those liberal highways nations send
Their tributes to the world,-stored corn and wine,
Gold-dust, the wealth of pearls, and orient spar,
And myrrh, and ivory, and cinnabar,
And dyes to make a presence-chamber shine.
But in the woodlands, where the wild flowers are,
The rivulets, they must have their innocent will
Who all the summer hours are singing still;
The birds care for them, and sometimes a star,
And should a tired child rest beside the stream,
Sweet memories would slide into his dream.
THERS abide our question-Thou art free!
We ask and ask-Thou smilest and art still,
Out-topping knowledge! So some sovran hill
Who to the stars uncrowns his majesty,
Planting his steadfast footsteps in the sea,
Making the heaven of heavens his dwelling-place,
Spares but the border, often, of his base
To the foil'd searching of mortality;
And thou, whose head did stars and sunbeams know, Self-school'd, self-scann'd, self-honour'd, self-secure, Didst walk on earth unguess'd at.-Better so!
All pains the immortal spirit must endure,
All weakness which impairs, all griefs which bow,
Find their sole voice in that victorious brow.
CHEN Letty had scarce pass'd her third glad
And her young artless words began to flow,
One day we gave the child a colour'd
Of the wide earth, that she might mark and know
By tint and outline all its sea and land.
She patted all the world; old empires peep'd
Between her baby-fingers; her soft hand
Was welcome at all frontiers; how she leap'd,
And laugh'd, and prattled in her pride of bliss!
But when we turn'd her sweet unlearned eye
On our own isle, she rais'd a joyous cry,
"Oh yes! I see it, Letty's home is there!"
And while she hid all England with a kiss,
Bright over Europe fell her golden hair.
CHARLES TENNYSON TURNER.
OVE is the Minstrel; for in God's own sight,
The master of all melody, he stands,
And holds a golden rebeck in his hands,
And leads the chorus of the saints in light;
But ever and anon those chambers bright
Detain him not, for down to these low lands He flies, and spreads his musical commands, And teaches men some fresh divine delight. For with his bow he strikes a single chord Across a soul, and wakes in it desire
To grow more pure and lovely, and aspire To that ethereal country where, outpoured From myriad stars that stand before the Lord, Love's harmonies are like a flame of fire.
H wherefore ever onward, Love! Oh why
Not rest with me awhile, and bid me take
Thine own sweet flowers that everywhere grow
high
In meadows glorious made by that deep lake,
Reflecting clear the heaven of thy sweet grace:
Teach me, O Love, to pluck these flowers of thine,
Give me to see and know thy blessed face,
That everlasting wisdom may be mine :-
I feel the charm of sweetest misery,
I know the mountain-land of quick extremes,
Thick flowers and deepest snows I also see,
I feel great sorrow mix with brightest dreams :-
Sweet Love! Oh rush not thus so quickly by,
But live with me that joy may never die.
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