What now remains, what now remains but night?
Night grieving, while the moon is in her grave.

V.

Behold! the rain is over: on the wave

A new, a flashing light!

Lo, she arises calm,

The pale, the patient moon, and pours like balm
Through the wet wood's wrecked aisle

Her own unutterably tender smile!

There is no calm like that when storm is done;
There is no pleasure keen as pain's release;
There is no joy that lies so deep as peace,

No peace so deep as that by struggle won.

Naught now remains, naught now remains but night—
Night peaceful, with the moon on field and wave!

TO-DAY.

Voice, with what emulous fire thou singest free hearts of old fashion,

English scorners of Spain sweeping the blue sea-way, Sing me the daring of life for life, the magnanimous passion Of man for man in the mean populous streets of To-day!

Hand, with what color and power thou couldst show, in the ring hot-sanded,

Brown Bestiarius holding the lean, tawn tiger at bay,

Paint me the wrestle of Toil with the wild-beast Want, barehanded!

Shadow me forth a soul steadily facing To-day!

Gentle Gard'ner, even so,

What we seek thou seem'st to know.

Bearing spices and perfume,

We are come to Joseph's tomb;

Breaks e'en now the rosy day;

Roll us, then, the stone away.

GARDENER.

Holy women: this the spot.
Seek him, but it holds him not.
This the holy mount of myrrh,
Here the hills of incense were,
Here the bed of his repose,
Till, ere dawn of day-He rose.

MAGDALENE.

Yes, my name is Magdalene:
I myself the Lord have seen.
Here I came, but now, and wept
Where I deem'd my Saviour slept.
But He called my name—and lo!
Jesus lives, 'tis even so.

GARDENER.

Yes, the mountains skipped like rams;
Leaped the little hills like lambs.
All was dark, when shook the ground,
Quaked the Roman soldiers round,
Streamed a glorious light, and then
Lived the Crucified again.

WOMEN.

Magdalene hath seen and heard!
Gard'ner, we believe thy word.
But oh! where is Jesus fled,
Living and no longer dead?
Tell us, that we too may go
Where the Rose and Lily grow.

MAGDALENE.

Come, the stone is rolled away;
See the place where Jesus lay;
See the lawn that wrapp'd his brow;

Here the angel sat but now.

"Seek not here the Christ," he said;

"Seek not life among the dead.”

ALL.

Seek we then the life above;

Seek we Christ, our Light and Love.

Now his words we call to mind :

If we seek Him we shall find;

If we love Him we shall go

Where the Rose and Lily grow.

MAY-MORNING

ON THE TOWER OF MAGDALEN COLLEGE, OXFORD, 1851.

In 1851, having been present at this observance, I had the honor to be appointed to prepare the poem for 1852. This was published in Oxford and distributed among the visitors that year.

I.

England and Oxford,-Magdalen and May-morn,

These were that day my elements of mirth;

When harshly sounding many a restless horn *

Of Flora's feast proclaim'd the rosy birth.

*The blowing of horns to awake sleepers at break of day is said to be a relic of old Druidical ceremonies, on May-day.

O bless'd the month that decks with flowers the thorn,

And spreads fresh beauty o'er reviving earth!

And bless'd was I, uprising glad as they,

To join the throngs that kept the holiday!

II.

And as the earliest lark went up the skies,
All emulous of her aspiring flight,
Where Magdalen's tow'ring pinnacles arise,

A choir of singers climb'd the airy height;
Vested they were for holy minstrelsies,

And each young chorister was all delight, Thus like the morning bird to mount and sing, As if at Heaven's own window caroling.

III.

Ah! who can tell how good it was to climb
With them the windings of that faery tower,
And from the summit scan the scene sublime

Of hill and dale, high wood, and bosky bower,
Meadows still sparkling with the dews of prime,
And skies all rosy with the dawning hour;
And e'en of antique roofs the nearer show,
With Cherwell's bridge, and glassy stream below!

IV.

Of Faith and Learning those delightful homes
And holy seigniories mine eye surveyed;
Quaint gables, sightly turrets, shapely domes,

Halls, colleges, and gardens; and the shade

Of thoughtful walks, where Merton's student roams, And winding banks that show'd where Isis stray'd: And all seemed beautiful, and grateful there

I breathed sweet sentiment and wholesome air.