Out of the lion, Grafts gentlest scion On Pirate and Turk. The Cossack eats Poland, Like stolen fruit; Her last noble is ruined, Her last poet mute; Straight into double band The victors divide, Half for freedom strike and stand, The astonished muse finds thousands at her side. ASTREA. HIMSELF it was who wrote His rank, and quartered his own coat. There is no king nor sovereign state That can fix a hero's rate; Each to all is venerable, Cap-a-pie invulnerable, Until he write, where all eyes rest, Slave or master on his breast. I saw men go up and down To assign just place and mates, What himself declared, repeats ; The form is his own corporal form, F Yet shine for ever virgin minds, Which, o'er passion throned sedate, Have not hazarded their state, Disconcert the searching spy, Rendering to a curious eye The durance of a granite ledge To those who gaze from the sea's edge. It is there for purging light, And its depths reflect all forms; For there's no sequestered grot, Lone mountain tarn, or isle forgot, But justice journeying in the sphere ETIENNE DE LA BOÉCE. I SERVE you not, if you I follow, In severe or cordial mood Lead you rightly to my altar, Where the wisest muses falter, And worship that world-warning spark Which dazzles me in midnight dark, Equalizing small and large, While the soul it doth surcharge, That the poor is wealthy grown, And the hermit never alone, The traveller and the road seem one With the errand to be done ; That were a man's and lover's part, That were Freedom's whitest chart. "SUUM CUIQUE." THE rain has spoiled the farmer's day; Shall sorrow put my books away? Thereby are two days lost: Nature shall mind her own affairs, I will attend my proper cares, In rain, or sun, or frost. |