Heaven deepening within heaven, like the skies THE LAST FLOWERS. Of autumn nights without a shadow DOST thou remember that autumnal stained, fear, Lest the high sun of heaven itseif should prove Powerless to save from that phantasmal sphere Wherein thy spirit wandered-if the flowers That pressed around thy feet seemed but to bloom In lone Gethsemanes, through starless hours, When all who loved had left thee to thy doom! Oh, yet believe that in that hollow vale Where thy soul lingers, waiting to attain So much of Heaven's sweet grace as shall avail To lift its burden of remorseful pain, My soul shall meet thee, and its heaven forego Till God's great love on both, one hope, one Heaven, bestow. WILLIAM YOUNG. THE HORSEMAN. "There be no deeper draught than thisNo sharper pain -no sweeter bliss"Nor anything which yet I crave WHO is it rides with whip and spur-This side, or yet beyond the grave — Or madman, or king's messenger? The night is near, the lights begin To glimmer from the roadside inn, And o'er the moorland, waste and wide, The mists behind the horseman ride. "Ho, there within -a stirrup-cup! No time have I to sleep or sup. "An honest cup!-and mingle well The juices that have still the spell "To banish doubt and care, and slay The ghosts that prowl the king's highway." "And whither dost thou ride, my friend?" "My friend, to find the roadway's end." His eyeballs shone: he caught and quaffed, With scornful lips, the burning draught. "Yea, friend, I ride to prove my life; If there be guerdon worth the strife "If after loss, and after gain, And after bliss, and after pain, "All this, all this I ride to know; So pledge me, gray-beard, ere I go." "But gold thou hast: and youth is thine, And on thy breast the blazoned sign INDEX TO FIRST LINES A bee flew in at my window,. Abide not in the land of dreams, Abide with me! fast falls the eventide, A bird sang sweet and strong, A blue-eyed child that sits amid the noon, A certain artist - I've forgot his name - A cloud lay cradled near the setting sun, A face that should content me wondrous well, A fellow in a market town, A fiery soul, which, working out its way, After this feud of yours and mine, A good man there was of religion, A great mind is an altar on a hill, A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear, A harmless fellow, wasting useless days, Ah, deeply the minstrel has felt all he sings, Ah me! forevermore, Ah! my heart is weary waiting; Ab, my Perilla! dost thou grieve to see A holy stillness, beautiful and deep, Ah, real thing of bloom and breath, Ah then, how sweetly closed those crowded days!. A hundred noble wishes fill my heart, Ah, what avails the sceptred race? Ah! what avail the largest gifts of Heaven?. Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb? A keen insistent hint of dawn, Alas- how light a cause may move, Alas, long suffering and most patient God, Alas! my noble boy! that thou shouldst die! Alas! they had been friends in youth, All beautiful things bring sadness, All change; no death, All conquest-flushed, from prostrate Python, came, All day I heard a humming in my ears,. All joy was bereft me the day that you left me, All moveless stand the ancient cedar trees, All promise is poor dilatory man, "All quiet along the Potomac," they say, All round the lake the wet woods shake, All the kisses that I have given, "All the rivers run into the sea,' All the world's a stage, All things have a double power, All things once are things for ever; Alone I walked the ocean strand, A lovely sky, a cloudless sun, Although I enter not, A man's life is a tower, . A man so various that he seemed to be, A man there came, whence none could tell, Amid the elms that interlace, A monarch soul hath ruled thyself, O Queen, Among so many, can He care? And are ye sure the news is true?. And if my voice break forth, 'tis not that now, And is the swallow gone? And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace, And was it not enough that, meekly growing, . Thomson, 592 And were that best, Love, dreamless, endless sleep?. An original something, fair maid, Answer me, burning stars of night! A poet! He hath put his heart to school, A power hid in pathos; a fire veiled in cloud: Are these the pompous tidings ye proclaim, As a fond mother, when the day is o'er, A sensitive plant in a garden grew, A sentence hath formed a character,. A sentinel angel sitting high in glory, As I came round the harbor buoy,. A simple, sodded mound of earth, Becalmed along the azure sky, Because I hold it sinful to despond, As I was sitting in a wood,. Ask me no more; the moon may draw the sea, Ask me no more where Jove bestows, Ask me why I send you here,. A slanting ray of evening light,. As leaves turned red,. As light November snows to empty nests, As lords their laborers' hire delay, A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, A sower went forth to sow, As precious gums are not for lasting fire, As sweet desire of day before the day, A steed, a steed of matchless speed!". A street there is in Paris famous, As thoughts possess the fashion of the mood, A story of Ponce de Leon, A summer mist on the mountain heights, As when a little child returned from play, At dawn the fleet stretched miles away, A thing of beauty is a joy forever,. A thousand years shall come and go,. At kirk knelt Valborg, the cold altar-stone, At midnight in his guarded tent, At our creation, but the word was said; At summer eve, when Heaven's ethereal bow, Avoid extremes; and shun the fault of such, A wet sheet and a flowing sea, A wife, as tender, and as true withal, Ay, scatter me well, 'tis a moist spring day, Ay, but to die, and go we know not where, Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight, Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead! Because I feel that, in the heavens above, Because in a day of my days to come, Because I wear the swaddling bands of time, Because love's sigh is but a sigh, Before I trust my fate to thee, Behold her there in the evening sun,. Behold the rocky wall, Believe not that your inner eye, Lord Houghton, 287 Ben Battle was a soldier bold, Hood, 739 A. T. DeVere, 185 Beneath the hill you may see the mill, Saxe,. 474 Crabbe, 168 602 Be patient! oh, be patient! Put your ear against the earth, Trench, 604 |