THE BRICKMAKER. There shall sit the hoary-headed There shall mighty words be spoken, Which shall thrill a wondering world Then shall ancient bonds be broken, And new banners be unfurled. But anon those glorious uses In these chambers shall lie dead, ; II. Let the blinded horse go round And the fire is in his prison : But when break the walls asunder, Say again what stately thing From the ruin shall upspring? There shall grow a church whose steeple To the heavens shall aspire : And shall come the mighty people To the music of the choir. 135 On the infant, robed in whiteness, There shall stand enwreathed in marriage Decked in garments richly glistening, There the veteran shall come weekly But these wrongs not long shall linger— Flames along the fated wall. III. Let the blinded horse go round Say again what stately thing From the ruin shall upspring? THE BRICKMAKER. Not the hall with columned chambers, Not the pile where souls in error To its inmates each to-morrow With a grief too loud to smother, There the veteran, a poor debtor, Marked with honourable scars, Listening to some clanking fetter, Shall gaze idly through the bars : Shall gaze idly, not demurring, Though with thick oppression bowed; While the Many, doubly erring, Shall walk honoured through the crowd. Yet these wrongs not long shall linger- For, behold! the fiery finger Flames along the fated wall! 137 IV. Let the blinded horse go round T. B. READ. THE RUSTIC PAINTER. His sheep went idly over the hills,- Idly down and up,—— As he sat and painted his sweetheart's face All round him roses lay in the grass For sake of her mouth and cheek, I knew The ant, that good little housekeeper, And yet the semblance of a smile TO A WILD FLOWER. And the golden-belted gentleman That travels in the air, Hummed not so sweet to the clover-buds The while for his ivory cup he made An easel of his knee, And painted his little sweetheart's face Thus we are marking on all our work As the rustic painted his ivory cup PART V. Poems of Sentiment. TO A WILD FLOWER. ALICE CARY. IN what delightful land, 139 |