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man can do and bear, It did not wholly fall my side as though no man were there.

"And yet for days it seems my heart shall | That while they nobly held it as each blossom never more, And the burden of my loneliness lies on me very sore: Therefore, O hewer of the stones that pave base human ways, How canst thou bear the years till death, made of such thankless days?"

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"And so we toil together many a day from morn till night,

"Perhaps they felt, as with those hands
they lifted mightily
The burden once more laid upon the
world so heavily,

I in the lower depths of life, they on the lovely height;

For though the common stones are mine,
and they have lofty cares,
Their work begins where this leaves off,
and mine is part of theirs.

"And 't is not wholly mine or theirs I think of through the day,

But the great eternal thing we make together, I and they;

Far in the sunset I behold a city that

man owns,

Made fair with all their nobler toil, built of my common stones.

It

The worker with the chisel and the
worker with the pen,
The restless toilers after good, who sow
and never reap,

And one who maketh music for their
souls that may not sleep.

"Then noonward, as the task grows light with all the labor done,

The

For,

single thought of all the day berising in my heart at last where it comes a joyous one: thrills up seeking for a voice, and has lain so long, grows almost a song.

"But when the evening comes, indeed,
the words have taken wing,
The thought sings in me still, but I am
all too tired to sing;
Therefore, O you my friend, who serve
the world with minstrelsy,
Among our fellow-workers' songs make
that one song for me."

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T. K. HERVEY.

Soul-stirring recollections,
With hopes, their bright reflections.
Rush to my troubled heart at thought of
thee,
My own illustrious, injured Italy.

And those broad pines amid the sunniest glade

Dear queen of snowy mountains,
And consecrated fountains,
Within whose rocky, heaven-aspiring pale
Beauty has fixed a dwelling
All others so excelling

And yet that vice
Should be allowed on sacred ground to
plant

A rock of adamant?
It is of ice,

To praise it right, thine own sweet tones That rock soon destined to dissolve away
Before the righteous sun's returning ray.

would fail;

Hail to thee! hail!

How rich art thou in lakes to poet dear,

So reigning through the year,
Within the magic circle of their shade
No sunbeam may appear!
How fair thy double sea!
In blue celestially
Glittering and circling! but I may not
dwell

On gifts, which, decking thee too well, Allured the spoiler. Let me fix my ken Rather upon thy godlike men, The good, the wise, the valiant, and the free,

On history's pillars towering gloriously,
A trophy reared on high upon thy strand,
That every people, every clime
May mark and understand,
What memorable courses may be run,
What golden never-failing treasures won,
From time,

339

Truth hath decreed her joyous resurrection:

In spite of chance,

And worser ignorance,

If men be ruled by Duty's firm decree,
And wisdom hold her paramount mas-

tery.

What art thou now? Alas! Alas!
Woe, woe!

That strength and virtue thus should pass
From men below!
That so divine, so beautiful a Maid
Should in the withering dust be laid,
As one that Hush! who dares with
impious breath

To speak of death?

The fool alone and unbeliever weepeth.
We know she only sleepeth;
And from the dust,

At the end of her correction,

She shall arise, she must.

For can it be that wickedness hath power
To undermine or topple down the tower
Of virtue's edifice?

But who shall bear the dazzling radianey,
When first the royal Maid awaking
Darteth around her wild indignant eye,
When first her bright spear shaking,
Fixing her feet on earth, her looks on sky,
She standeth like the Archangel prompt
to vanquish,

Yet still imploring succor from on high?
O days of weary hope and passionate
anguish,
When will ye end!

Until that end be come, until I hear

The Alps their mighty voices blend, To swell and echo back the sound most dear

To patriot hearts, the cry of Liberty,
I must live on. But when the glorious
Queen
As erst is canopied with Freedom's sheen,
When I have prest, with salutation meet,
With reverent love to kiss her honored

feet,

I then may die,

Die how well satisfied!

Conscious that I have watched the second birth

Of her I've loved the most upon the
earth,
Conscious beside

That no more beauteous sight can here
be given:
Sublimer visions are reserved for heaven.

T. K. HERVEY.

EPITAPH.

FAREWELL! since never more for thee
The sun comes up our eastern skies,
Less bright henceforth shall sunshine be
To some fond hearts and saddened eyes.

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And there beneath the immemorial elm Three rosy revellers round a table sit,

Before her home, in her accustomed seat,

The tidy grandam spins beneath the
shade

Of the old honeysuckle, at her feet
The dreaming pug, and purring tabby
laid;

To her low chair a little maiden clings,
And spells in silence-while the Black-
bird sings.

Sometimes the shadow of a lazy cloud
Breathes o'er the hamlet with its gar-
dens green,
While the far fields with sunlight over-
flowed

Like golden shores of Fairyland are

seen;

Again the sunshine on the shadow springs,

And fires the thicket-where the Blackbird sings.

The woods, the lawn, the peakéd manorhouse,

With its peach-covered walls, and rookery loud,

The trim, quaint garden-alleys, screened with boughs,

The lion-headed gates, so grim and proud,

The mossy fountain with its murmurings, 1 Lie in warm sunshine-while the Blackbird sings.

porch

Bask in the kindly welcome of the The ring of silver voices, and the sheen Of festal garments, and my lady

west:

But the broad casements of the old Three

streams

With her gay court across the garden

Kings Blaze like a furnace-while the Blackbird sings.

green;

Some laugh, and dance, some whisper
their love-dreams;

And one calls for a little page; he strings
Her lute beside her-while the Black-

sings.

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