Be verily bitter as self-sacrifice, We are no less selfish! If we sleep on rocks Or roses, sleeping past the hour of noon, We're lazy. [From Aurora Leigh.] A CHARACTER. As light November snows to empty nests, As grass to graves, as moss to mildewed stones, As July suns to ruins, through the rents, As ministering spirits to mourners, through a loss, As Heaven itself to men, through pangs of death He came uncalled wherever grief had come. [From Aurora Leigh.] PICTURE OF MARIAN ERLE. SHE was not white nor brown But could look either, like a mist that changed According to being shone on more or less. The hair, too, ran its opulence of curls In doubt 'twixt dark and bright, nor left you clear To name the color. Too much hair perhaps (I'll name a fault here) for so small a head, Which seemed to droop on that side and on this, As a full-blown rose, uneasy with its weight, Though not a breath should trouble it. Again, The dimple in the cheek had better gone With redder, fuller rounds: and somewhat large The mouth was, though the milky little teeth Dissolved it to so infantine a smile! [From Aurora Leigh.] ALAS, long suffering and most patient Thou need'st be surelier God to bear with us Than even to have made us! thou aspire, aspire From henceforth for me! thou who hast, thyself, Endured this fleshhood, knowing how, as a soaked And sucking vesture, it would drag us down And choke us in the melancholy deep, Sustain me, that, with thee, I walk these waves, Resisting!-breathe me upward, thou for me Aspiring, who art the Way, the No way to truth laborious, and no life, ROBERT BROWNING. PROSPICE. FEAR death? -to feel the fog in my throat, The mist in my face, When the snows begin, and the blasts denote I am nearing the place, The power of the night, the press of the storm, The post of the foe; Where he stands, the Arch-Fear in a visible form, Yet the strong man must go; Now the journey is done and the summit attained, And the barriers fall, Though a battle 's to fight ere the guerdon be gained, The reward of it all. I was ever a fighter, so,-one fight Once his love grown chill, Mine may strive, Bitterly we re-embrace, Single still. Was it something said, Vexed him? was it touch of hand, Strange! that very way I as little understand When I sewed or drew, How he looked as if I sang - Sweetly too. If I spoke a word, First of all That was all I meant, - To be just, And the passion I had raised To content. Since he chose to change Gold for dust, If I gave him what he praised, Was it strange? Would he love me yet, On and on, While I found some way undreamed, -Paid my debt! Give more life and more, Till, all gone, Sixteen years old when she died! Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name, It was not her time to love; beside, Her life had many a hope and aim, Duties enough and little cares, And now was quiet, now astir, Till God's hand beckoned unawares, And the sweet white brow is all of her. Is it too late, then, Evelyn Hope? What! your soul was pure and true; The good stars met in your horoscope, Made you of spirit, tire, and dew; He should smile, "She never seemed And just because I was thrice as old, Mine before. Grows belief! Well, this cold clay clod Was man's heart. And our paths in the world diverged so wide, Each was naught to each, must I be told? We were fellow-mortals, - naught beside? No, indeed! for God above Is great to grant as mighty to make, And creates the love to reward the love; I claim you still, for my own love's sake! Delayed, it may be, for more lives yet, Through worlds I shall traverse, not a few: Crumble it, and what comes next? Much is to learn and much to forget Is it God? EVELYN hope. BEAUTIFUL Evelyn Hope is dead! Sit and watch by her side an hour. That is her book-shelf, this her bed; She plucked that piece of geranium-flower, Beginning to die too, in the glass. Little has yet been changed, I think, The shutters are shut, no light may pass Save two long rays through the hinge's chink. I have lived, shall I say, so much since HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD then, Kiss me as if you made believe So As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank. So we were left galloping, Joris and I, Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky; The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh; 'Neath our feet broke the brittle, bright stubble like chaff; Till over by Delhem a dome-spire sprang white, And "Gallop," gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight!" "How they'll greet us!"- and all in a moment his roan Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone; And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate, With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, And with circles of red for his eye sockets' rim. Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each holster let fall, Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, Wake Cry, | Still, in a horror of heart-beats you |